


wonderwall

by everlystarkey



Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Eating Disorder, Eventual Smut, M/M, McLennon, Slow Burn, also posted on Wattpad, poor paul man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 28,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23833306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlystarkey/pseuds/everlystarkey
Summary: Before I closed the door to once again shut out the light and resume the darkness I took a moment to take in the sleeping figure. He was so small even under the blanket.A fucking eating disorder. How could I of been so stupid as to think anything elseTW; eating disorders
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney, McLennon - Relationship
Comments: 43
Kudos: 150





	1. chapter one

pauls pov

the soft glow of the moon illuminated the hotel room, allowing me to navigate my way to the bathroom without turning on any of the lights. I was always grateful when we got hotel rooms like this, oftentimes I've found myself stumbling through the darkness to the toilet, not turning on the lights at first as to not wake up Ringo who was sharing the room with me. However, I've learnt recently that It was probably worth the risk of waking him as me cursing at stubbing my toe on some protruding object turns out to be way more effective at waking him than I simple desk lamp.

I never knew until night-time if I had one of the rooms where the moon could shine in. Never have I considered myself someone who knew about the lunar cycles and which way the moon rose and set- it was something I would assume jane would know and would call me an idiot for not knowing myself. it hardly seemed important though, not in the grand scheme of things.

once I made it to the bathroom I softly shut the door and took a seat on the toilet. Taking a moment to sit as I scanned the room for all the cabinets and shelves in hopes of finding where they would put a scale. It had been about... A week? About a week since I Had least weighed myself and my nerves were starting to get the best of me, at first the idea of touring and the hectic life associated with it seemed like a good idea to me. At home, I had been weighing myself three times a day so touring had seemed of a way to stop myself having the opportunity to obsess over the number on the scale. But surprisingly not being able to know proved to be more upsetting. Additionally not being able to check so frequently meant that when I did find the time to check-in, the gains or losses were a lot more dramatic. back at home, I was able to monitor and think about what I wanted to eat way more than I do now I am on tour. often we just had room service bring up a take-away of something similar at night, making the before mentioned gains more frequent than the losses. 

I hated it, I hated the 1.6, 2.1, 1.8 pound gains I made every time I checked in the night after eating even a tiny bit of room service with my bandmates. It was always hard for me eating with them nowadays because with every mouthful came the realisation that once it's gone in its not going to come back out until my body has digested it and turned it to fat. Every bite I knew I would later be regretting one I stepped on the scales and saw that number rise for the third time in a row.

Luckily it was revealed that this hotel room was equipped with a scale, tucked away in the towel cabinet beside the bath. The one in our previous location didn't have one which is why I had to go an entire week to weigh myself. I felt a weight in my stomach as I stepped on the scales, I knew it was going to be higher without even looking. it was always higher now. I was starting to lose the once tight grip I had on my eating habits and was at the start of a long downwards spiral into dramatic weight gain.

Sometimes as I was sat eating with my touring group the prospect of throwing up what I had consumed came to mind. I knew it went on with girls in Liverpool because Dotty used to talk to her girlfriends about how some girl in her class had been caught throwing up in the toilets. As much as it seemed a solution to my problems it wasn't something I wanted to do. It was tempting sometimes but every time I considered it- knelt over the toilet after dinner - I couldn't bring myself to do it. I hated throwing up more than anything else. but sometimes I think it's only a matter of time until I'm forced to, especially if I don't stop gaining weight.

truthfully, I don't really know when exactly this obsession over my weight started. There hasn't ever been a time in my life, past the age of around 10 - where I hadn't been conscious of my weight when small jabs had been thrown my way by other kids. Undeniably I had been a somewhat chubby kid - baby fat was what my mum called it - but it had somewhat gone away when I was 14 or so. Still, that previous label stuck with me and I had always kept a close eye on my weight from then on. skipping out on snacks when it went up too much but I never did anything dramatic about it as a teenager. I suppose the more recent developments came when the band starting gaining popularity, first just Liverpool newspapers would make the odds remark about your looks or your hairstyle. Then the rest of England, and then the world. Ironically it seemed that as more people around the world got to know paul McCartney, I got to know him less. my whole way of thinking and perceiving things seems to have shifted.

Once the red line landed on the number I stopped thinking to read it, 140 pounds. 0.4 more than last time. although it wasn't as high as I had previously thought it's be. it marked the start of a whole new set of emotions. I was now in the 40s. after weeks of trying to get into the 20s, I had risen to the fucking 40s. I couldn't pinpoint exactly when I had last been this high up on the scale, i probably had it written down in my notebook somewhere in short-hand but I couldn't recall off the top of my head. what I did know was that i shouldn't be at this point at this time. I was falling off. when I had been doing all I can to be loosing I ended up gaining. the thought of it didn't sit right in my head. I just don't understand how this could be happening.

Of course, I was eating more fattening foods but I had also been touring, spending hours a day singing and playing around a stage, sweating for the exercise and the lights. I even found myself more recently becoming light-headed at the little head shakes we did and so on. Really it should be balancing out somewhat. I didn't sit through the pain of an empty stomach or the temptation of food to be in the 40s. swiftly I put the scale away, noticing the shaking of my hand as I did so. The scale seemed to be getting heavier and heavier every time I picked one up. maybe it was my muscles leaving my arms, maybe my hand was shaking from my thoughts. I couldn't be too sure really. Softly, I tiptoed across the carpet back to my bed, slipping once again under the covers, willing sleep to come only to be left instead with anxieties about the next time I had to eat

\-------------------------------------

so this is actually shorter than the other chapters I have planned. I always find it difficult to start of stories but I hope this is good enough and there will a lot more happening in future chapters!


	2. chapter two

a hard knocking on the door awoke me just hours after I had finally managed to drift off into a dreamless sleep. Groggily I rubbed my eyes to help them adjust to the daylight streaming through the windows - I must have not of shut the curtains again once I left the bathroom.

"we're up Brian!"

Ringo yelled to end the insistent knocking. It was ever me and Ringo who wouldn't wake up in the mornings - without fail it was George, John or both of them who were reluctant to start the day whilst me and Ringo tended to be more early risers. 

"Breakfast has started to be served downstairs! Be down in 10 because we're leaving as soon as possible!" 

I left Ringo to shout excessively loud through a thin door whilst I instead shifted through my suitcase for some clothes to wear in the day. Eventually deciding on a turtle neck with the same trousers and blazer I had worn the day before, they had only been worn once so they were still clean. Ringo started to get changed in the main room today so I went into the bathroom to get dressed.

"do you reckon John and George are up?" I asked through the door. Only this time I was talking because, despite popular belief, you could hear each other through a door without having to shout. "Maybe, I don't know what time they went to sleep last night because I went off early." he spoke before pausing briefly "why? bored with me already?" my bandmate asked. Although I could tell he wasn't really as offended as he let on because I could hear the smile in his voice. "no, no. I just was wondering if we should check by their rooms to see if they've fallen back asleep." It wouldn't be the first time we waited at the breakfast table only to eventually go to their hotel room and find them sleeping, and it probably won't be the last as well.

once we were changed we started to make our way towards the hall, deciding against visiting John and Georges room in the end. Partly because we thought the banging on our door this morning probably woke everyone on our floor up and also because we weren't entirely sure which room was theirs. upon arriving in the hall we were waved over to a large corner table by Brian and George Martin.

"Good to see at least half the band ready"

martin joked as we handed over the room key so our suitcases could be taken from our rooms and out into the van. ready to move to our next location which was yet another hotel. The other three were sucked into a convocation together whilst I picked up the paper left on the table, "rock n roll weekly" The cover boasted their logo along with The rolling stones posing just underneath with smaller texted surrounding them described the articles inside. Out of the five or so sentences, one caught my eye over the others 'Beatle boyfriends - who is most popular with the ladies? page 14'. Amusedly I flipped over to the page listed. interested in seeing what they had to say about it.

*****

'BEATLE BOYFRIENDS'

The Beatles worldwide tour of America has given us countless new photos of our favourite Liverpudlians. Treating us to a break from the iconic Beatle suits and instead of showing off to the paparazzi a much more casual look as they try and beat the, much warmer, American climate.

Their looks have sparked a lot of convocation with the female followers of the band, George Harrison is the main focal point with his slim figure and toned stomach (which he had shown off at a recent beach outing). often seen in a cotton white button-down and blazer when not enjoying the American beaches. Paul McCartney, however, has opted for a different look, reminding us of Andy Warhol as he wears turtle necks topped with a blazer. here's what some interviewed fans had to say about their new looks!

"I like Georges, its a much more casual look than we're used to but honestly I'm enjoying it!" one of the girls spoke before her friend, 16-year-old Sherry, chipped in "yeah me too, but I don't know how I feel bout Pauls, he's my favourite Beatle but the layers sort of give him a bulkier appearance which I'm not too keen on... perhaps it's just his natural figure though, I couldn't be sure"

*****

I stopped reading at that point. A bulkier figure? An all too familiar weight made itself known in the pits of my stomach. Why does there always have to be some sort of criticism about me in the articles I read? of course, its to be expected that people could critique my music or singing - and that didn't bother to be nearly as much because I was confident in my abilities and its just something that comes with the job. the opinions about how I looked always hit closer to home with me though. especially since if one person says it in a magazine it can be assumed hundreds of people are also thinking it but most people don't have an outlet to talk about it other than with their friends. Additionally, it especially hurts because I know that hundreds of people are going to buy this magazine and read that. And if they don't already think there's something wrong with how I look it will be rudely pointed out to them now. 

"Are you alright, Macca? You look like you've been shot."

A familiar voice pulled me from my thoughts as the magazine was pulled from my hands. George, shortly followed by a dishevelled looking John, sat down on the seat to my left and started to read over the page I had open. A simple "good morning boys." was said by Brian who was still engrossed with the convocation happening between him, George Martin and Ringo. "bulkier figure?" George read aloud to both himself and John - who was now leaning over Georges's shoulder at what he was reading. "who are they saying that 'bout?" asked John, who had obviously left his glasses in his suitcase. "Paul," George said simply. Reading through the rest of the article I hadn't managed to read. John looked over to me, looking at me up and down in a painstakingly slow manner to make up for his lack of vision. I felt what seemed like a wave of heat flush over me as the once-over went on feeling intensely insecure at the scrutiny my body was now under. 

"Why do you look so upset paul? you ain't even bulky."

John finally spoke. I just shrugged my shoulders, preferring to just drop the matter than have to go over the humiliation of talking about my body any longer. George tossed the article down onto the table before it was swiftly picked up by John again. who held the thing very close to his face in an attempt to read it. "aye, I don't know where Sherrys got that from, I wouldn't describe you as bulky!" George chipped in, although a reply was unneeded as our attentions were quickly drawn back to John - who had taken on the task to start ripping up the whole magazine.

"Lennon! that was for reading on the drive!"

Brian complained although it did absolutely nothing to slow down or deter Johns tearing. The whole situation was a very John thing to do, but I didn't know how I felt about it. Despite normally loving Johns antics, this made me feel anxious as it would probably start a convocation when John finally revealed the motives of this particular act of vandalism. my anxieties were subsequently proved valid when john spoke "I don't approve of you reading anti-Paul propaganda Bri. Didn't kno' you were that type of man." 

"what do you mean, john?" Brian sighed, very obviously tired with Johns antics, the three of them who were previously chatting away were now just watching as John tore the "Propaganda" into yet even smaller pieces of the table. The waitors were going to love us when they come to clear up later on. "They said Paul was chubby." George answered for him. Even though it meant the same thing, chubby sounded worse than bulky, a less polite way of saying it. But it did have the same meaning really, telling the American nation I was bigger than the others but in a more polite way.

"chubby? They did more than that George! they fuckin' hurt our pauls feelings!"

John explained again, finally satisfied with the small mound of paper he had reduced the magazine too. Brians gaze shifted from John to me, I tried to offer him a smile but it felt unnatural, ever anxious he was going to give me a once over like John. Luckily he didn't and instead started to scoop the paper up into his hands to carry to the bin. "Well, if Pauls is so upset I think it's best I offer him the spot at dinner tonight. I was going to make you all try and earn it but if Paul needs some cheering up we might as well give it to him." Brian replied, offering me a soft smile before leaving to go to the bin. It was quite common for Brian to treat all of us or one of us to a restaurant dinner ever so often, to encourage good behaviour or to keep our spirit high when touring was wearing us down.

A generally considered treat instead filled me with dread. Eating was the last thing I should be doing right now. An article has just announced to all its readers that I was 'bulky' in comparison to George and the others and I was expected to go eat more? The idea made my chest feel tight with anxiety. How would I even avoid it? the whole situation made me feel rather trapped, once we're out I'd be expected to eat what I order and there are none of the others to detract peoples attention if I don't. not to mention the fact I was in the 40s now. if I wanted to get back down to the 30s I had to be eating less, not more. The idea of this being the start of a downwards slope into weight gain- an idea I had toyed with the night before. Meant I needed to regain control over what I ate even more so than before. this wasn't good at all.

convocation continued at the table once brian had returned. John complained a bit about me getting the prized dinner was not what he meant when he suggested I needed cheering up but everyone eventually dropped the topic altogether. waitors brought over a tray over toast as well as two beakers, one full of water and the latter orange juice. I myself opted for a glass of water whilst the others ate, chatting with Ringo about what he had to do today.

"whilst you're at dinner I was thinking I would try and do a bit more painting." he said casually. previously this week it had been his birthday and Maureen had gifted him a painting set. He had to use some shitty mixed-media paper due to not having any canvas' but overall he found it very enjoyable. or at least I assumed he did because he had done it non-stop since his birthday.

"have some toast, Paul, remember, there's no food on the bus"

Brian insisted, putting a triangle slice of jam on toast onto my plate. eyes boring into me as I wondered what to do. Reluctantly I took a bite, chewing it slowly and only stopping once brian had looked away to resume his convocation. despite only eating two bites it felt in my stomach that I had eaten 10 pounds worth. The rest of the toast went uneaten. Instead just carried on talking to Ringo in a way that suggested I was too engrossed in my convocation to remember to eat.

After that breakfast passed as smoothly as it could for me and soon it was time to get in the van for a five-hour drive into the next and final state before we went back to England for a two-week break. John and I jumped into the very back seats and the other two sat just in front of us. we had brought some blankets and pillows as well as some note pads to try and keep us sane over the long trip. 

"Ready lads?"

the driver called out to the van full of Beatles, managers and so on. getting a chorus of everyone saying "yeah" "yes" or "yea" at different times before setting off. Soon after the van turned onto the motorway though I felt a pain in my stomach similar to loads of tiny needles stabbing it. in an attempt to subdue the pain I stretched and changed how I was sat to no avail.

"does anyone have any painkillers? my stomach is killing me!" I asked everyone despite only really meaning Brian. He was the only be prepared to have that sort of thing on him. Every so often, after eating something dense like bread after a period of not eating, my body seems to punish me for ingesting it. Giving me horrible stomach pains that make me want to double over, it's horrible to deal with but it does act as a deterrent to stop me eating. "no paul, sorry. have some water though. John, do you have some?" Brian gave me a sympathetic smile as John took the last gulp of his water before handing it over to me. "you don't mind us sharing germs, do ya?" he asked, wiping his mouth and giving me a grin, for a second distracting me from my stomach pains. "Not at all, johnny boy!" I winked back, continuing the joke. only instead I saw a fleeting change in johns face as I spoke maybe for a half-second before it shifted back to normal. i ignored it, taking a big gulp of water to try and subdue the pain.

__________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, this took so long and isn't the best quality :/ been in a bit of a depressive mood recently.
> 
> In my chapter plan there was a lot more stuff meant to happen in each chapter, but seeing as this is already 2500 words I think I was a bit over-ambitious with what I thought id be able to do per chapter. ill try and get a new chapter out soon so look out for that!
> 
> also, I thought id mention it here because I don't think I've brought this up on my Wattpad or Instagram but I do have a Beatles crack channel, the name is the and I plan on uploading more soon once my phone is fixed :) the name is Phe Starkey :)
> 
> my Beatles Instagram: @/phe.starkey (always up for new mates :))


	3. chapter three

As the hours dragged on, so did the stomach pains. I spent the overwhelming majority of the ride not engaging with the chatter of the rest of the van and instead just held my stomach and drank my water. When the van had finally pulled up at the Hotel the stomach pains had only just began to settle down.

"How are you doing, paul?"

Asked Brian, slowing down to walk beside me as we entered the hotel. This was the last place we were to stay before heading home to England. surprisingly, we didn't have a performance in this location, we just came here for two reasons. The first one being it was much closer to the airport we were flying out from, and secondly, we had been invited to a party tomorrow night which brian had agreed to us attending. Not that I was complaining. The four of us were more than happy to spend the last day of what was a gruelling and unrelenting tour getting blackout drunk with a bunch of posh pricks.

"I'm okay Bri, I just feel ill." I sighed. always one to be dramatic as John said. we entered the hotel. It had a large lobby which was decorated with an array of dark green plans and brown tiles. A large staircase with fake gold bannisters was the main focal point of the room, winding up and around to the first floor which I assumed to be just as posh as the ground one.

"Aye, maybe something you've eaten hasn't agreed with you." he suggested, earning a shrug from me before he continued "Now, I don't want you to feel like I'm kicking you out, because if you want to still go I'm more than happy for you too. But do you really think you are up for dinner tonight? I wouldn't want you ending this tour sick in bed. That's all." he spoke very softly, almost as if he was scared of offending me by what he said. he was somewhat right to though. the other lads often thought over who got the much-prized dinner so being unchosen was essentially asking for an uproar, especially if he did it to George or john.  
I thought for a moment before replying. I never wanted to go to the dinner in the first place, but so happily rejecting the offer was sure to raise some eyebrows. well, I suppose not if I play along with the assumption that I've gotten food poisoning which is what he seems to be going with. it's a bit ironic to say you've got food poisoning though when you haven't really eaten any food.

"aye, if I'm honest the thought of food at the moment makes me want to be sick," I complained. Brian quickly waved off the task to checking everyone on to Martin before turning back to me. "well, I tell you what, you'll be on the top of the list of who gets it next time, yeah? so you're not missing out on anything!" he smiled. Earning a grin back from me. whether he'd remember whenever "next time" came around (probably months away now seeing as it was the end of the tour) I didn't know. 

"PAUL!"

John yelled/sung, holding a room key up with his index finger. "yes?" I asked him, going to snatch the key away before he flicked it into the air and caught it in his hand where it was promptly shoved into his back pocket. Brian rolled his eyes before leaving to once again join George martin. 

"fancy sharin' a room with me?" he asked, grinning mischievously and wiggling is eyebrows. Usually, it was John and George to a room and me and Ringo in the other. the whole time we had been touring it was an unspoken rule that that was how the rooms were split up. it was the most practical.

"why? so I can be all alone while you and George get drunk at the bar?" I asked. whilst Ringo and I prefer sleeping at a reasonable hour. John and George much preferred staying up into the early hours of the morning and then complaining that they're tired when they are dragged from their beds just hour. Probably the main reason the sleeping arrangements were how they were as brian could avoid one of us complaining that the other had woken them up.

"You know I wouldn't do that to you!" he exclaimed, putting his hand over his heart as I had really hurt him with what I said. "I'll be back before 12. I wouldn't be able to enjoy myself knowing you were missing my much sought after company." I guess it wasn't any real trouble switching rooms, I doubted Ringo would really mind it, especially if John actually did come back before 2 AM because George would naturally follow suit. Not really one for drinking alone.

"Are you alright with me and john sharing, Rigs?" I asked, inexplicably agreeing to what john had proposed. After a quick nod from Ringo the four of us, along with Brian and George, were ushered into a sort of lounge room with thick, cushioned couches. "Right, lads." Brian began, looking slightly anxious about what he was going to say. "Because Paul is feeling a bit ill today, I thought he could have the next dinner instead of this one. George, would you like the dinner tonight instead?" he asked, preparing himself from the objections from Ringo and John. 

After about ten minutes of arguing and complaining on Johns and Rigs end, they eventually accepted that George was in fact deserving of the dinner and that John would just have to go drink with George martin instead. After that what was left of the day after the five-hour car journey and the hassle of checking everyone in when by relatively smoothly. We all sat together in Ringo and Georges room, playing cards and chatting until George left for his dinner and John left for the bar around 10 o'clock.

"Are you sure you don't want to join him?" I asked Ringo, nodding towards the direction of the door John had just walked out of. Everyone, excluding George obviously, passed on dinner tonight, instead just munching on biscuits, crisps and whatever other snacks they had bought from the vending machine downstairs. I didn't eat anything and, luckily for me, no one asked me to either. All of them probably accepting that I didn't have much of an appetite after enduring me complain about my stomach the whole trip here. 

"Nah, I've been waitin' to do my painting all day now." 

he dismissed. pulling his suitcase out from under the bed and retrieving a small bottle of red, yellow and blue paint along with some black and white. I watched as he squirted out dollops of each colour onto a flattened out crisp packet before going back to his suitcase to pull out some brushes and paper from the inside pocket. 

"Here you go, Macca." He said, handing me my own paper and paintbrush. "you shouldn't really paint in artificial light, but it's not like I have any time to paint in the day." he explained as if he needed to defend himself to me. we sat in a comfortable silence as we both painted for a while. The room was dark other than a bedside lamp casting an orange glow across the room, halfway through my... Interesting painting, I got up to ring down to reception, requesting a record player to be brought up. After it arrived and I had put on some buddy holly before getting back onto the floor to finish what I was doing.

"I like yours," I commented. Ringo had painted a nice meadow scene with a river flowing through the middle. All the colours he had mixed all complimented each other beautifully to create a very calm, soft atmosphere. It wasn't at all realistic, more abstract, but I could tell he took his new hobby seriously. "thanks mate, yours is quite good for someone who hasn't painted before." he commented back, looking down at what I had managed to paint. it was us four but we didn't have faces and we all looked identical. the only distinguishable person was Ringo has he was sat down behind some grey blobs resembling a drum kit.

"wow. thanks" I laughed softly, starting to add some questionable looking hair to everyone, all the same colour. The painting continued for a while longer before Ringo once again spoke. 

"y'know Paul, you're a good mate." 

His comment took me back a bit because of how our of the blue it was. never the less I smiled back at him "so are you rigs." I replied, dipping my brush back onto the crisp packet for more paint. at this point, we had cut down the length of the packet so we could lay it out flat and have more space to mix. 

"thank you, but I say that because sometimes I think you don't talk to me about things," he said, not looking at me and instead of keeping his gaze at what he was painting. I thought about what he said for a moment. I mean, I talk to him as much as I talk to the other lads, even more so even because we were normally sharing a room. Of course, I can be more excitable around George and especially john, but that was because that was our dynamic, Ringo was calmer and perhaps even more friendly. "well, I do trust you, Ringo, I don't say anything to the other lads that I wouldn't say to you." I replied to him, looking over at him although he didn't look up to meet my gaze. "no, no I don't mean it like that." He clarified. "then what do you mean?" Ringo still didn't look up at me as we spoke, it was puzzling. a thought crept up in my mind that maybe he had noticed something about my eating habits when I hadn't thought he had? God forbid he hasn't really asleep when I went to weigh myself every chance I got. maybe he had heard me putting the scale down onto the tiles over and over again in different hotel rooms and eventually connected the dots? although if he had i would have imagined him to be more direct about it.

"I don't know paul, I just..." he spoke, obviously having some difficulty explaining how he felt. "just, if there's something wrong, or anything you want to talk about. you can always tell me. I wouldn't go telling everyone y'know,... you can trust me I guess, that's what I'm trying to say."

He finally looked up at me, his face reflecting a look of concern as he spoke. My chest felt a bit tight at this sudden confession. It's good to know that there is someone who genuinely cares, and I don't doubt what he's saying for a second. I could tell him and I know he wouldn't judge me to my face. and I know he wouldn't tell anyone. But its only human to be disgusted, and he would be if I were to tell him whats going on. He would think I'm mentally ill and even if he did care enough to try and help me get better, I'm not sure if I would be capable of it. Nor do I think I would really want to, not when the thought of gaining weight made me sick to my stomach. One confession would completely alter the way he views me as a person. he wouldn't be able to trust me to look after myself like a grown adult should be trusted.

"I know Ringo, I would tell you if something was wrong," I said, trying to appear sincere as I looked back at him. he shot me a soft smile before returning to his painting. Afterwards, the convocation eventually drifted back into more casual territory, just discussing what he was going to do when we were back in England, Ringo mentioned the party tomorrow, wondering what the dress code was. It was probably just formal just as most parties we were invited to were.

"I should probably go to my room now, it's almost 12," I said once I had finished the painting. I was proud of it overall, despite it looking like the work of a toddler, but to be fair I had no previous knowledge about how to mix skin tones and all. Rigs had even given me a quick crash course of complementary colours so by the end at least my toddler drawing had a pretty colour scheme. 

"aye, im knackerd, night paul!" 

once I was back in my hotel room I changed into my night clothes before doing a quick check in the bathroom for a scale, not being able to help the disappointment I felt when it didn't have one. What it did have, however, was a large mirror above the sink. curiously I lifted my white jumper up and held it there with my chin. Looking back at me in the mirror was hard to face. The outline of my hips was visible without me having to breathe in, however, when I bought my hand up to the fat around my abdomen, I could still pinch and hold the fat there between my fingers. I couldn't tell if it was just my head telling me this but I could almost swear it was more than last time, probably because I was now 140. potentially more because of the toast and bottles of water I had eaten and drank today.

"Heya paul!"

I was abruptly pulled from my though as the door swung open. with lightning speed, I pulled my jumper just as john turned to look in the bathroom. I should have shut the door I thought as I looked back at john. unable to hide the shocked look on my face. 

"oh sorry!" John slurred, moving to lean onto the bathroom door frame "I didn't mean to walk in on you checking out yer abs." he grinned, causing me to finally relax a little. I just rolled my eyes at him and walked past him to the bed with my suitcase on it. John followed suit to his bed and began getting changed. a quick glance at my watch told me it was 12:07, he was a man of his word after all.

"what's this?" He asked once he was finally changed. I looked over from my bed and saw him stood holding my shitty painting for earlier. "Ringo had me painting with him." explained simply, not wanting to give him much to continue the convocation with because when John was drunk he had a tendency to talk even more than he did when he was sober. often what he said was theatrical and didn't make much sense unless you were also drunk. in which case he had you questioning your whole life's purpose. "its cool, I can tell which one George is, got a massive head" he said, pointing at himself on the paper. "mph" I said, smiling to myself. 

"this one is you, Paul, he's left-handed," he spoke again, pointing to the right person this time. "you're correct." I replied, "you're very interested in my painting." I commented, watching as john continued to look at my painting, now wearing his glasses to get a better look at it.

"aye, I just want to talk to my favourite person." he smiled, finally putting the painting onto the nightstand he too lay down in bed like me. Flat on his back and looking up at the ceiling. "your favourite? what about Elvis? Buddy Holly?" I questioned, snuggling deeper into the blankets. "they're all good looking guys, good at singing to." he explained. motioning with his hand in the hair like he was making some profound point. "but you're better paul, better than them at singing and playing!" 

His confession made me smile. He often got all soppy when he was drunk, only this was different because I wasn't drunk along with him. before I managed to reply he spoke again. "because, Paul, in my life I have seen a lot of people play, but I haven't seen anyone better than you, looks-wise or playing-wise." he said, trailing off slightly towards the end as sleep slowly came to him.

"looks-wise?" I asked, turning to look at John who was still staring at the ceiling, eyes dropping slowly shut. "well, yeah... like I can appreciate the male form and all that, I am an artist after all." he defended himself "and from my appreciation, I have yet to find someone who I can appreciate more than I do you." he finally turned to me. only he wasn't smiling and instead seemed to be just looking. taking in what he could see of my face around the blankets. I simply smiled back at him.

"go to sleep, John."

______________________________

how was that? 2850 words that were! god, every chapter keeps getting longer and longer. 

that was the second half of what I had planned for chapter two even though we're currently one chapter three :/ would you prefer updates every few days that are around the length of this chapter and the previous one, or would it be better to update less often but have longer chapters?

my Beatles instagram: Phe.starkey


	4. Chapter 4

The bassline of the music could be felt on the floor of the large home I was currently stood in. The other three had abandoned me some minutes ago, siting some reason that I couldn't hear over the sound of the music. I couldn't even make out who it was, certainly wasn't us that was for sure.

"Mccartney!" Mick Jagger yelled as he slung an arm over my shoulder, his distinctive accent giving himself away long before he came into view. Mick and I had spoken a few times over the years. we had always been friendly when we did so, but I wouldn't generally consider ourselves close. I mean, the hectic life that is being in a band on tour didn't leave much space for close relationships. Outside of my own little world of band members and family, I wouldn't consider myself close with anyone. 

"YES!?" I tried to shout out overtop of the music, having dubious success. He seemed to be able to lip-read relatively well though as he continued without me having to repeat myself. "We're about to play beer pong! you should come to join us!" he sung, not bothering to tell me who 'we're' was and very obviously intoxicated by now. He looked at my face for a moment. "you're high?" he asked, it being my bloodshot eyes that probably gave it away before anything else. "It's okay, I am too" he yelled, way too openly for my liking. I wasn't so used to being so candid about weed, not since we've had to keep it a secret from the press.

My reply as to whether or not I was up for beer pong proved useless as before I could even speak I was already being dragged through the house by a firm grip on my wrist. He pulled me past the screen doors and to a table tennis table in the garden. I had not been outside yet since I had arrived but it seems a lot of other people had. Cups and beer bottles were all over the garden, some even floating in the large pool that was directly beside the beer pong. It was undoubtedly quieter outside, although you could still hear the raging music blaring through all the open windows in addition to the groups of people all partying in the garden. 

"we've got our missing player!" Mick announced to two other men, neither of them who I recognised as being someone who I had met before. come to think of it, I didn't even know who owned the house/ mansion we were in.

The two men cheered at my recruitment and the table was soon set up for a game. A drink was thrust into my hands by one of the unknown men which I accepted happily as my main motive of turning up tonight was to get drunk. I had managed to bypass the entire day without eating. a fete I had very rarely accomplished since we had started touring. I felt proud of myself, for not giving in, it wasn't often I felt happy with myself these days so I allowed myself to savour the feeling despite the emptiness of my stomach.

once the game started it was revealed I was actually pretty good at beer pong, for someone who hasn't played. I managed to get three cups out in a row before mick took over. Probably tired of having to wait and not have a turn. A miss on his end sent the ball back other to our opponents. We watched with fingers crossed as one, who I now know to be called Jack, chucked the ball directly into one of our cups. "OH FUCKS SAKE!" I complained, looking over to Mick to see if he wanted to drink the shot. I had only drunk one bottle but I was already feeling the effects. In addition to not eating all day, I and the rest of the band had also gotten high in the hotel room before coming here. One beer felt like three to me at the moment. 

"go on Macca, payback for all the ones you put on us!" said Jack, Mick agreeing with him and thrusting the cup into my hand. I took the ball out before swiftly downing the shot. Wincing at the burn as it made its way down my throat. I didn't even know what they had me drink, some funky vodka maybe? 

"that's my boy!" Mick yelled excitedly, slapping me on the back with enough force to jolt me forwards slightly. if it was not for my intoxicated and high state, I wouldn't be comfortable with the level of affection mick had shown me. however from his slurred speech and inability properly stand without swaying from side to side, I had my doubts on whether he would remember this night at all, nevermind me in particular.

Jack and his friend missed the next shot, sending the ball back over to us and, after learning our lesson last time, I was given the ball to throw. although just milliseconds before I threw it I felt myself being shoved. Mick suddenly gathering the power more akin to a sober man and managing to shove me into the littler filled pool. The chilliness knocked the air out of me and I frantically frailed my limbs about until my brain caught up with where I was and tried to swim to the ladder. Trying not to swallow any water while I gasped. once I had made it out I coughed up the water onto the grass before looking up. 

"you fucking prick." I smiled, a warm laugh erupting from me before I even managed to finish the sentence. The other threes faces shifted from concern to joy as they joined me in a laughing fit. "fuckin hell paul!" Mick laughed, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet "I thought you couldn't swim or something!" he complained. "killing a Beatle? that wouldn't have gone down well." Jack agreed.

As soon as the game ended I broke away to go to the bathroom. The coldness of my watersoaked clothes finally seeping in through the adrenaline and alcohol towards the end of the game. I had kept my jumper and button down on despite them all being soaked. Denying the suggestion from James of taking off just my jumper because I knew my thin dress shirt would have gone seethrough and would now be clinging to my skin. 

It didn't take me long to find what was probably one of many bathrooms on the first floor. Like the rest of the house, it was very spacious and lavishly decorated. A radiator was mounted on the wall beside the toilet, I could use that to dry my clothes.

After locking the door I began to undress, starting with my shoes and slowly making my way up until I was stood, shivering, wearing only my underwear, in a strangers bathroom. I put the socks and shirt directly onto the radiator. deciding to first try and get most the water out of the jeans and jumper before they went on as well.

quickly, I pulled two towels out from the rack and sandwiched my jumper between them before standing on top of it all. Trying to make the towels absorb as much water from the jumper as possible.

"You don't eat enough."

A voice made me jump in my skin. A small, blond girl made herself known from behind the bath curtain. why she was behind there I wasn't sure but I quickly grabbed another large towel to cover myself up.

"what the fuck? you cant just sit and watch people you creep!" I complained, my voice waving slightly at both the shock of her even being here in addition to having had my body so plainly on a show to a stranger. my heart to me seemed to be audibly pounding in my chest but the girl didn't seem at all fazed, just pulling out one of them slender cigarettes that were popular with ladies, and George, before speaking again.

"you should've checked," she said calmly. finally pulling herself out of the bath. now I could see her figure fully she was around 5'6 and was wearing an orange and yellow shift dress paired with some white boots and a headband to match along with a small bag which housed the cigs. seemingly unfazed by the absurdity situation she began walking over the towels on the floor as I had just done. "works better with boots." she said.

"uh, right." I still felt uneasy. the pang anxiety I had first felt hadn't subsided yet after being so suddenly exposed. I requested the towel so it sat snugly just under my arms and ended around my knees. I still felt as if I was far too exposed though, much preferring to just put on the wet clothes and leave. "you need to eat more." she said again. Continuing to walk over the jumper. 

"um, okay, I will," I said. trying my best to sound as casual as she seemed to be. she didn't seem or look nearly as drunk as I felt, despite the shock doing a good job of sobering me up a bit. Nothing about what was happing seemed to have any effect on her at all. "Do you not usually eat on tour?" the girl asked flipping her long hair over her shoulder. Once her cig was completely burnt out she reached back into her bag and pulled out two more cigs. Only this time they seemed hand-rolled. "weed?" she offered, handing one over to me. I accepted it gladly as I was willing to do almost anything to ease my nerves.

I lit my joint and watched the woman. After she had stomped on the jumper for a god while she picked it up and put it on the radiator before replacing it with the jeans. "I'm Paul," I told her, trying to at least start up a bit of convocation. "Lottie," she said back, taking a long drag of her own joint.

soon after the introduction of marijuana, the convocation began to ease. I had put my button-down back on so I could feel more covered but still kept the towel on for good measure. It wasn't 100% dry but it was close enough and my body would surely warm it up the rest of the way. upon listening to Lottie a little while longer I learnt that she was a writer for an American magazine "the spot". She ensured me nothing about this situation would be mentioned and, for some reason, I trusted her.

eventually, our convocation came to an end once my clothes were all sufficiently dry enough to put back on. Despite all of my modestly being thrown out of the window the second she appeared from the bath, she still gave me the small comfort of turning around as I got dressed.

"We should keep in touch," I said. "yeah, I'd like that." she smiled. pulling a book and pen from her bag which she had intended to use for noting down her stories for work. I quickly scribbled my home address down before we parted ways.

_____________

do you trust Lottie? I am not happy with this at all. I really suck at writing these types of things but this party had to happen for the later events to make sense!

I really hope you enjoyed this kinda mental chapter :)  
also! I don't know where else to put this but I am opening up one-shot requests! I am open to writing anything Beatles (smut etc) so if you have a prompt please comment it down below :)  
Beatles Instagram: phe.starkey


	5. Chapter 5

I got up before the sun did the next day. Only being able to catch a few hours of sleep before the stomach pains and headache dragged me back awake. On the bed on my left john was layout like a starfish wearing just his jeans from the night before, the blanket he had attempted to pull over himself before passing out only covered him in sections as the majority was bunched up beside him. He seemed comfy enough though, that boy could sleep through anything if we drank enough.

Although I was probably still drunk all the weightlessness and joy I had felt the night before seemed to have drained from my body and been replaced with lead, or something. WhenI got up and made my way to the small desk in our room my head rang just from the movement and the light. John must've not turned them off when he got into bed, or I had forgotten? Whoever had gotten home last- I couldn't remember. I did remember walking, or more stumbling, into the lobby area and being told by the lady at reception that I had been sent a letter by Jane as she knew this would be our last stop before returning to England. Right now it lay where I had tossed it onto the desk, making the responsible decision to wait until I wasn't seeing three of everything before I read it.

I couldn't remember much of what had transpired the night before, I remember that women for sure although her name had slipped my mind. I also remember being pushed into the pool and maybe something about John getting into a fight? or he had broken up a fight? he was definitely involved in something of that nature because I remember watching it unfold with that girl from the bathroom. Thinking of her I swear she mentioned she worked as a journalist for a magazine? It'd be quite the article if she were to write about all the events of last night and it would probably ruin multiple careers in the process.

After sitting down I rested my head in my hands to give them a brief break from the dim yellow light that was giving my head such a hard time. I couldn't read that letter now but I could definitely do with was a glass of water. Maybe some paracetamol too if we hadn't of ran out of painkillers. Removing my head from my hands and braving the light I grabbed the kettle from the desk and took it over to the bathroom to fill it with water for a cup of tea, without sugar and milk of course. Once I had my tea brewing in my mug I took one last trip to across the room to turn the dreaded lights off. deciding to reduce the headache by enjoying my tea with only the very early morning light coming in through the window. The dim, grey sort of light you experience just before the sun rises. Halfway through my cup of tea my eyelids once again began to grow heavy once again, just wanting to take advantage of the moment I abandoned what was left of my drink and climbed back into bed for hopefully more rest. 

......

I ended up sleeping the whole of our second last day. All of the bands attempts to pull off me out of bed turning out unsuccessful as I lay under the blankets, not wanting to poke my head out and catch the light as it would only make my already persistent headache worse. Whilst Ringo was more sympathetic towards what I was complaining of, John had instead taken it all a very different way.

"He's done more than just some fucking weed at that party, look at him!" John exclaimed to the band members who were lounging on Johns bed, having no sympathy for the raging headache I was experiencing. "Macca. what did you take?" George asked. I could almost feel them staring daggers in my direction. In all honesty, I don't think I took anything out of the ordinary last night. This was merely my bodies response to the mixture of weed, alcohol and an empty stomach.

"Nothin' else," I replied, burying my face even deeper into the blankets. There was something oddly typical about this. whenever there was some sort of conflict, it was always Ringo who stayed calm, John who lost his patience and George or me in the middle. 

After a few snide remarks from John on how he doesn't believe me the day dragged on just how it had been before, slowly and with a massive headache. Gradually the pain started to lessen after Brain came back from his trip to the pharmacy to restock on painkillers. I took two pills dry when he handed them over and immediately slid back under the blankets to wait for them to kick in. 

"are you joining us now, Paul? we are going downstairs to play monopoly with the rest," Ringo asked, noticing me getting out of bed to use the bathroom. Once the tablets began to work their magic I really did start to feel better so I'm sure I could do some monopoly.

"yeah, you all go down without me, ill need to read that letter from jane first, before I forget." after that the other Beatles filed out of the room to go downstairs, john throwing a "don't be too long" over his shoulder at me - obviously we still hadn't gotten over me staying in bed all day.

To Paul

hiya! How has the tour gone? are the other boys getting on your nerves yet or are you still getting along in such close proximity? 

The reason I'm writing to you right now rather than giving you a ring or maybe talking to you when you return home is truthful because of im a bit scared. you know me, paul, I'm always scared of confronting people so I decided to write to you instead.

we need a break. 

I'm sorry, I genuinely am! it's just I don't think we are right for each other... the first while was amazing but as it's gone on I have come to the realisation that this just isn't working. we just so busy! me with the acting and you with the touring. my life at the moment is just so hectic I don't think being in a relationship is right for me at this stage.

ill always have a deep love for you and I hope we can still be good friends.

love, jane xxx 

johns pov

Paul followed us down to the main room about twenty minutes later. In which time we had divided out all the pieces for everyone and were now munching on crisps waiting for Paul to get his ass downstairs. Seeing as he was last he was left with the shitty thimble player piece no one wanted and had his own packet of crisps waiting for him on his seat. Ringo had bought them for him, saying some fuel in him would make that hangover go away. If that was even what was wrong with him.

I had a previous thought, which had been only strengthened today, that Paul was on something. It was part of the reason that I wanted to share a room with him as I wanted to keep an eye on what he was doing. As of recently, he seemed paler. And also quiet now I've thought of it. Knowing Paul for such a long time and caring for him in the way that I do, I could tell when there was something wrong with him and there seems to have been something off for a while. He never had hangovers before, maybe a slight headache but he was always let off easier than the rest of us after a night of drinking which is why I know there's something new at play. In Hamburg, we had experimented with pills and the comedowns the day after were always bad, even for Paul. After a few months, we all vowed to never take them again after seeing what it had done to other lads our age who had let it go too far. So maybe Paul was trying to hide it for that reason, but he never struck me as the type to crave them enough to go back to them after so many months off them.

I would be lying if I said it wasn't worrying to me... Paul was someone I held close to my heart. Too close many, more conservative, people would argue. But I can't help it just like I can't help feel the frustration in my heart when I see signs of him doing something bad but not being able to catch anything and therefore confront and help him. Instead, I am forced to watch him slowly damage his body more and more, the fucking wind could come close to blowing him over these days with how much weaker he looked. 

"ready my love?" I asked as he took a seat beside me. Paul just smiled back at me and moved his crisps onto the floor beside the chair. "can't wait to, babes." he grinned, although there was something off about it. 

"can you two stop shaggin' please and start the game?" asked George, who was holding the dice waiting for us to shut up. I took no notice, however, making a point of grabbing Pauls thigh as I looked at George "shaggin? if you think this is shaggin you need to apologise to Pattie you little prude." Ringo laughed at that, although Paul pulled his leg out of my reach almost instantly, something flashing in his eyes before I heard a breathy, forced laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So short but honestly, its been over a week so I had to post something :/ I've been a bit depressed recently so I've had no motivation to do much other than paint (even though I know writing and getting feedback always makes me feel better, it's just hard to get started if you get me?) I seem to be through the thick of it however so hopefully you will be getting more chapters soon!
> 
> Beatles Instagram: phe.starkey


	6. chapter six

Johns pov

Paul and I walked down the hall to our room in complete silence. The game had gone well overall but I found myself unable to just let go and enjoy myself as I usually would. Of course, I laughed and joked but a feeling of dejection seemed to loom over me after Paul reacted so badly to me putting my hand on his leg and I would be lying if I said it didn't hurt, I felt rejected. 

There was no point denying to myself that I felt very strongly towards Paul in ways I wouldn't ever admit out loud. Ever since we first met I had felt a connection to him which grew and evolved slowly until the realisation hit me in the face of what a simple admiration had evolved in to...love. Even though it was a love bound to go unrequited and never acted upon, I felt comfort in the ignorance of it. just having him about and all made it easy for me to pretend, in my head, that there was something more happening. And to be so cruelly reminded that that was not the case hurt me. I found it embarrassing, taking things a step too far, not seeing the line that everyone else sees and making Paul so uncomfortable as a result.

I also felt confused. Paul had never acted like that to being touched. Even though I noticed how I wasn't as physically close to him as I once had been, I didn't think that things would have regressed to him feeling so uneasy with a simple touch to his leg. It served as yet another reminder that things have changed from how they were before. Also, Pauls body felt foreign to me, I remember how his thighs felt as they were wrapped around me as I carried him home from the dirty Hamburg bars, far too drunk to walk himself. I remember the feeling of his arm wrapped around my shoulders as we drank and laughed all through the night. When I felt him downstairs it didn't feel the same, he smaller. I didn't grip the same amount of meat as I would expect too, significantly so. And yet somehow I had gone unnoticed. his body felt so foreign.

"Macca."

I began once we were safely inside our hotel room. It was around 9 pm but seeing as Paul had spent most the day sleeping I didn't expect him to be ready to go to bed yet. He bent down to take his shoes and socks off. "yeah, John?" he asked, sounding like his usual self. After the small incident, he had slowly begun to relax as the game progressed. He had never once been talkative but did engage with us a bit which I was happy about. "I'm sorry for touchin' your leg, mate," I said, wanting to get it over with. I had never been the type to apologise to people but then again I wasn't the type to catch feelings for another man. paul just brought out a different side of myself.

I took a seat on the edge of my bed, the side facing Pauls. He followed and lay against the headboard of his own holding a book in his hands. "its okay, john. I didn't mind." he said, opening the book to a blank page. he didn't mind? In my own humble opinion, you could not react to someone touching your leg in the same way you'd react if they have instead poured boiling water on it and then say you didn't mind.

"But you like, flinched away," I said. "If I had known me touchin' you like that would have made you feel so bad I wouldn't have done it". Paul put the book face down onto his chest and looked over at me, he hadn't written anything on the pages yet, perhaps he had a new song idea? If he did the normal thing to do would be for him to tell me about it. "John, I like to touch from you. touch is good." he said, holding my gaze. "it just took me by surprise, that's all." He explained, sounding quite small and quiet at the end. I felt quite confused, but he seemed genuine as he spoke and I had no reason to pry into it like that. I mean it'd seem weird if I cared so much about something that inconsequential.

"ah, alright then... what are you writing?" I asked, wanting to change the subject away from an apology that turned out to be undeeded. Paul pulled open the drawer to the bedside table and began routing around for assumedly a pen. "A letter to Jane, she wrote me one so I reckon I owe her a reply". he explained.

After a bit of small talk, I left the room, telling Paul I was off to ask George down to the bar again. I walked over to their room and knocked a little tune onto the door, let them know it's me and all. "hey John." Ringo said as he opened the door before stepping aside to let me in. "no Paul with you?" he asked, peer down the hall in the direction my room.

"Nah, Nah. I wanted to talk to you two about him." I began, sitting on the bed where George was sat smoking. Ringo came and joined us on the opposite bed. "what about him?" George asked, offering me a cig which I accepted gratefully, using his lighter to light it up. 

"well, don't you think he's been acting a bit off recently?" I asked. Even though there was no chance of paul hearing us I still spoke quietly, feeling the need so softly as this wasn't something I felt should be talking about. it was a private thing and all. "y' know, I was thinking the same thing. I asked it about it a few nights ago when you two were at the bar." Ringo revealed. always leave it to him to be a good mate. He hadn't mentioned it to us before but I wouldn't have expected him to, it's not like we have weekly meetings where we talk in secret about Pauls health. 

It was interesting to know that I wasn't the only one who has noticed something wrong with Paul though, and seen that something was wrong enough to try and talk to him about it.

"And what did he say?" George asked, taking a long drag from his cigarette. Ringo took out his pack, lighting one up as he continued "he just said that if there was anything wrong then he would tell us. he didn't go into any explanation into his change of mood though." he said. "he seemed happy at that party." George quipped in, "happiest he's seemed in a good while." we all added at that. He did seem happy at that party, happy and very drunk. I couldn't help but notice that he had seemingly gotten very drunk very quickly too. 

"Why are you asking anyway John? has he said something to you?" George asked, looking intrigued to know if I had heard anything too. "no, he hasn't said anything. but I touched his leg downstairs, remember? and he just felt all bony." I said. "do you think he started taking something again? maybe thats why his hangovers are so bad and why he's gotten thinner." I asked. I knew something was happening to him. I came to that conclusion very quickly when I began to notice things more and more. first the lack of involvement, then the hangovers, not wanting to eat and then jumping at the slightest touch.

"Maybe. why else would he be acting so different?" Ringo agreed. "Do we confront him? I'm not gonna lie, lads, it worries me a bit," George admitted, getting up to go open the balcony door. He seemed uncomfortable. Whether it was just the weight of the convocation or him being worried about Paul I didn't know. Probably a mix of both to be honest.

"you should invite him out John, try and make him open up," Ringo suggested. watching George as he stood on the balcony and looked out to the view beyond, smoking his cig as he did so. "why me? you're better at being all supportive!" I was never the type to get people opening up. Ringo was always the more caring, helpful friend who I normally went to for help. "because he trusts you, John, I can see that he does." Ringo replied. "just make him feel comfortable like you wouldn't judge."

\-------------

dear jane,

by the time you get this letter, I will probably be home and have been able to talk to you in person but, seeing as you sent me a letter, I don't think you would want that to happen. I'm a bit gutted I won't lie but I am happy you told me. I don't know what else to say other than I wish you the best in the future in whatever you decide to do. I know you said you wanted to be friends but I don't think id be able to do that, not right now at least. I'm sorry

Paul.

Pauls pov

Short but sweet, truthfully I didn't know what else to put, I'm sure Jane wouldn't want some sob story about how much I love her and want to be with her. if she wanted that too she wouldn't have broken up with me via fucking letter. As I wrote it began to set in that it was over. Officially. I felt empty now for a very different reason.

________________________

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it's a tiny bit all over the place but I needed to set some stuff up for future chapters! :)

Instagram: phe.starkey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone being so kind in the comments, I am feeling much better now :)!  
>  I am still accepting prompts for one-shots (fluff, nsfw ect) 
> 
> beatles instagram: @phe.starkey


	7. chapter seven

"water, please, Luv." 

Paul smiled at the girl behind the counter in his usual McCartney fashion. I looked up at the menu displayed overhead. it had been a pain trying to convince paul to come out with me. complaining of not being in the mood to go out. however, when was he ever in the mood these days. if I had spent the day crying under the blankets about a headache I would want to leave the second it was over.

"hm, and you?" the girl asked, shifting her attention over to me. "a plate of chips please, and two cans of coke." I replied looking over at Paul and giving him a grin "get some real drink into ya."

I led Paul to the booth on the front window. allowing us to look out into the American city that was slowly starting to come to life at this point, around 11:30 pm. I watched as paul looked out, the image of what he was looking at reflecting onto his hazel eyes from the glass. he rested his cheek on one of his fists as he admired the busy city, the other one messing with a napkin. 

part of me wanted to reach out and hold that hand, hold his in mine and rub my thumb over the back of it. only I couldnt considering the last time I touched him. If that was anything to go by then he would jump out of his skin. he was stunning though. stunning and...fragile. the glimpse of skin visible between where his blazer ended and his hand began had a bone protruding way more than I had remembered it doing. and his cheeks seemed less full than they usually were too. his cheekbones were more prominent and the normally pink tint they had seems to have vanished into a milky white. it frustrated me in all honesty. just watching something so beautiful be slowly but certainly ruined by that very same person. I wanted at every moment to just intervene, reach my hand in and stop it. but that was difficult to do, it didn't seem tangible and I didn't even know what it was. 

"here you two go, have fun." the girl giggled, placing the drink and plate of chips down the table - two wooden forks sticking out the top. around the forks, she had squirted a heart with tomato sauce.

"whats with the heart?" Paul asked, not making an effort to grab one of the forks and instead just picking up his water, taking a slow sip. I took both forks out and tossed one over to paul, determined to get at least a little bit of food into him. what sort of drug killed your appetite? who would even sell paul drugs consistently? it would have to be someone in our entourage - someone who would be fired, among other things, the second I find out their name.

looking over to the counter the girl was stood in the back, giggling on the company phone to presumedly a friend. "I think she thinks we're shaggin', Macca," I commented, catching the girls eye and giving her a smirk, causing her to giggle and whisper down the phone. 

"Oh." Paul laughed softly. the fork laid in front on him in the same place I had tossed it. forgotten. I took a bite out one of the chips on the plate nodding down at the plate at paul, urging him to do the same. he only shook his head. "Like I said John, I'm not in the mood to eat."

"are you ever? c'mon, have a bite!" I shot back picking up the fork and trying to hand it to him. he took it but didn't try and pick up a chip. "john, ill get a stomach ache." he said, looking out the window at the passersby's to avoid looking me in the eyes. "Paul, c'mon, just a bite," I said, urging him on. I knew i should be pushing him like this, paul had never responded well to pressure at the best of times but I just wanted to see him eat. see some colour come back to that washed out face.

I couldnt believe I didn't notice it sooner. the changes had been subtle and gradual until it suddenly hit you in the face how dramatically he had changed. perhaps not so stark to someone who didn't know him as well as I did, but he looked so much different to the lad who would lie, shoulder to shoulder, with me on a shitty Hamburg bed trying to keep the cold out as we smoked and laughed. now I don't even think he would sit so close to me. 

by the time we had finished eating paul had consumed about six chips and half a can of Pepsi. as we walked over to the counter to pay I stopped him pulling his wallet out. "allow me, I was the one who asked you out to dinner." I said, pulling out a fiver and handing it over to the girl. as I reached into my pocket to pull the money out, receipts and other paper fell out along with it. Paul crouched down to pick them up as I collected the change.

"...xnxx?" paul asked, crouched down on the ground and reading one of the receipts. "oi you nosy git!" I complained, snatching the papers out of his hands and shoving them into my pocket again, along with the change. as we left the chippy and started walking in the opposite direction of the hotel, paul spoke again. "johnny, why were you buying a German gay porn mag?" he asked, although I wasn't looking at his face, I could tell he was grinning. as happy as i was to see paul smiling, I would much rather it be not at my expense. 

"me 'n' Stu bought it in Hamburg. we were drunk and wanted to do the quizzes inside." I explained, speeding up my walk in the direction of the pub. "hurry up, Macca, there's alcohol to drink!" I said as the pub came into sight. 

"and what did you get in the quiz? he asked, still not letting the topic drop. if only he showed this amount of fucking interest in eating.

I remember buying that shitty mag. it was in a german sex shop just around the corner from the main strip of bars we frequented. "Find your saucy sexual preference" was written on the front in translation under the large german lettering. we had bought it and escaped into an alley to read it, although there was not much to read, more of a picture book to be honest. The quiz turned out to be entirely german too, a complete waste of money.

neither I or Stu were gay, Stu did mess about a bit with men though. just the odd one between the many girls which was what first brought my own sexuality into question. he was so effortless with it, he didn't care about the societal norms and quite frankly it looking liberating. only, unlike Stu, I never mustered up the courage to try it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! I've always liked this chapter of paper crown so I thought i would rewrite it :) also! get ready for the next chapter, some important events may be happening at that bar!


	8. chapter eight

The bar was relatively quiet, only a few couples and friends sat drinking quietly together while Paul and I were snugly tucked away in the corner. I had ordered a few rounds of beer for us and Paul had already nearly finished the most recent one in record time. The bar itself was quite nice, red with dark brown oak for the floors and tables. a Fake chandelier hung from the ceiling which cast a yellow light onto the room. 

"I'll tell you what, Johnny, I've always liked America." paul Noted, finishing off his fifth pint as he looked at the paintings hung on the wall, taking a sepcial interest in one of the American countrysides. It was a prominently green painting with a turquoise sky. In the far background was a cottage with a red sheet hung out to dry on the clothesline. it did look quite idealistic to live in such a place, so calm and far away from the world. I had always viewed Paul as one of the countryside people rather than a city dweller.

"Actually? never cared for it really, too big and we have everything we need at home," I replied. taking a swig of my own beer. It felt comfortable here, just talking about whatever came to our minds just like when we were younger. Back when we were merely dreaming of achieving what we had now. Paul had ended up loosening up after about the second paint, back in Hamburg two pints would have been considered sober yet here Paul is, leant back into the corner of the booth, heavy-eyed and chatting about paintings.

"are you drinking on an empty stomach, Paul, did them four chips not fill you up?" I grinned, a warm feeling flushing over me as I drank more and more. Paul smiled lazily at me "I always am." he said so casually that, if I had not been paying so close attention, it would have flown right past me. Before I could speak again Paul slumped forwards so that his elbow was resting on the table and he was leaning towards me. "let me tell you a secret john." he slurred, low to the table as if he wanted no one else to hear. entertaining him I leant forwards to so that I was at eye level with him. "Jane, right, Jane sent me a letter," he said, the alcohol in his breath being extremely prominent as he was only 10 or so centimetres away from me. "I know, Macca, you already told me." I smiled, reaching out to ruffle up his hair. Being as inebriated as he was I was confident he wouldn't care about that sort of attention. He leant into my touch before replying. "I know John, but I didn't tell you what it was about!" he clarified. "She, Jane broke up with me in it!" he finally revealed. not looking nearly as sad as he should have been expected to be.

Paul loved Jane, there was no question about that, I'm sure if he had told me without the influence of alcohol then he would be holding back sobs with every word he spoke. As he stared at me, waiting for a reply with them droopy eyes an soft smile, I couldn't decide which one was better. knowing him he was hurting deep down about this but looking at him now you would think he didn't care. "via letter? that's harsh." I said, not knowing how to reply to such a bombshell. Paul lent back into his corner, "I know! imagine being left through the royal mail!" he complained, picking up his paint only to find it empty. 

I orderd what would be our last round of beers. admittedly I felt a bit guilty about letting paul drink so much because, If the last few days were anything to go by then Paul would be in bed all day tomorrow with a horrible headache. Perhaps I'll try and get a few glasses of water into him before he went to sleep. 

"I don't blame her though," Paul said out of the blue, taking his first sip of the beer. "and why is that?" I inquired. It wasn't like Paul to talk like that, not once in my many years of knowing him had he pubically put himself down, so this was definitely a new development. "well, have you read them magazines recently?" he said, taking a big gulp "they all say I'm like... they say I'm fat now." he mumbled the end part, being self-conscious for the first time since we got here. 

"magazines are saying that? Don't be ridiculous Paul, you know you're not!" I shot back. Since when had Paul ever cared about what the press thought of him? He used to be called the Liverpool bull in the papers back home but he never cared about that. 

"Well, they're all saying it for a reason," I said, suddenly taking a keen interest in the floor. "I don't matter though, I don't care too much anyway," said Paul in an attempt to change the subject. remembering back that what Ringo told me in the hotel room, I decided not to push him. Instead, I would just make him comfortable and get it out of him another time. Baby steps and all. I suppose shutting him down so quickly wasn't the smartest thing to do - I mean if Ringo was here right now Paul might have spoken a bit more about it but I guess that's just the Lennon charm at work. 

"can you come to sit 'round my side?" Paul giggled, scooting even closer into the corner of the booth. Indulging him I got up to go sit with him - as if I would ever no to getting to my Macca. What took me by surprise was Paul scooting up right next to me, albeit there were multiple layers between us (shirts, coats, blazers etc.) but I still felt a bit giddy that he was actually initiating closeness like this. 

it was a bit bittersweet thinking about it, where we used to be this close without even acknowledging but now it seems like a gift. But then again I'd rather have it this way than for him to never want to be close, even with a few pints of beer in him. "I missed this," I blurted out, sipping my beer and tilting my head down to look at paul leant against my shoulder. it mustn't have been comfortable, having your neck bent like that, but he didn't seem to mind. 

"Miss what?" he asked, lifting his head up a bit to face me, his beer left forgotten on the table. "you being close to me," I said quietly so the other patrons couldn't hear us. not that they were paying us any attention anyway. 

Our faces were mere inches apart now. In the dim, golden lighting Pauls's eyes looked amazing. Them thick lashes casting long shadows onto his pale cheeks, the hints of yellow in his eyes becoming ever more prominent as they caught the light. Before I could catch myself I planted a soft kiss to his lips. it didn't last a lifetime but I wasn't short either. for a good few seconds, I sat here, kissing him with all the love I had pent up towards him while my mind screamed at me to stop. he never moved away but one thing was impossible to overlook- he wasn't kissing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! remember to comment and leave kudos because they make my day - no joke its kinda sad lmao  
> beatles Instagram (always up for new mates) is phe.starkey


	9. chapter nine

The next day I woke up with a pounding headache. An ailment that has become painstakingly common over the last few days due to the drinking. I made a silent promise to never drink again as I sat up in bed and looked around my dishevelled hotel room. my head punished me for the movement but I don't think to stay in bed for two days straight was an option.

"boys! up for breakfast! I need to have a chat with you all." Brian shouted through the door, giving it a few hard knocks for the added effect which only made my head ring louder. "fuck sake! we're up Bri, now piss off!" John groaned from his bed. Pushing his head face down into the pillows.

The room was a mess. John and I's clothes were scattered about we were both tangled up in the sheets of our beds, wearing our pyjamas which were quite surprising as I didn't remember ever putting them on.

"morning Macca," he said with a notable amount of gravel in his voice as he rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. "how are you this fine morning?" He asked, still not attempting to get out of bed.

Taking care to not move to quickly, I rose from the mattress. Shuffling through the suitcase for some clothes as I spoke: "alright John, my fuckin' head hurts though." I complained, pulling out some trousers and a button-down before beginning the familiar search for painkillers.

"I can imagine it does, you were off yer head last night." He joked despite the usual cheeriness being replaced with the usual mood of a man with a hangover.

After we were dressed we headed down to the dining room for breakfast. Coincidentally bumping into Ringo and George as we were shutting our door.  
"Did you two lads have a good night?" Asked Rigs just as we entered the lift, usually, we took the stairs but they were not the best for a person with a migraine so we made an exception. As George selected the ground floor John and I looked at each other - one of the few things I could recall from the night before was my very drunk bandmate kissing me square on the lips. It hadn't been mentioned since but as I looked at him and he looked back at me it was obvious that's what we were thinking about. After john has pulled away from me, tilting his head down slightly to look at me with them hooded eyes we merely broke out into a drunken grin. my head falling back onto his shoulder as he chugged the last of his paint. a stupid smile plastered across my face.

"I mean it was eventful." I chuckled before John started talking about how expensive the beer in the pub was. The silent agreement being made to not talk about what happened last night.  
I found it was rather conflicting, although it was nothing more than a drunken kiss I had felt quite different about it. Countless times I had seen my drunk mates kiss one another before! Admittedly never on the lips but still, it was something that happened. But back then you were full of cheap cans of beer and laughed it off as nothing significant happened. What you didn't do was lay in your hotel bed hours later, watching the light on the ceiling merge into one of itself, two of itself and then back to one of itself thinking solely about that one detail of the night. I had never had an urge to kiss john or any man at that matter. but I would be lying to myself if I said that it didn't feel nice. warmth had spread throughout my entire body as his chapped lips pressed against mine before it was over and we were back to drinking.

Walking over to our table I took my usual spot where Ringo was on my left and George and John were on my right. Brian was, as usual, already downstairs chatting to George Martin. "Right lads!" He said once he noticed us approaching the table. "So as it turns out we've been booked for a few extra interviews and even a photoshoot! So we will be staying for an extra few days here. We won't be travelling however, they're all within an hour and a half radius." He explained, earning himself a chorus of groans and complaints from the four of us. we were meant to be leaving tomorrow after a gruelling half-year tour. to say I missed not only my family but England as a whole was an understatement.

"Fuck sake Brian, don't you think we've been here long enough!" John complained. It wasn't one of Brian's brighter ideas to tell bad news to a hungover John so early in the morning, it was essentially asking for a sour reaction.

After we had our fair share of complaining and questions everyone finally settled down to eat. I poured myself a glass of water from the jug and put a slice of jam toast onto my plate - having no intention of eating the latter. instead, I watched silently as everyone around me engaged in their small groups of chatter. focusing primarily on john and George who were grinning at each other as they spoke quietly - never a good sign but still a common one.

"Are you not hungry paul?" Ringo asked, picking up on me not eating only minutes into the meal. John and George carried on their convocation, completely oblivious to the two of us, unlike Brian who had promptly leaned over to join.

"Do you usually get stomach aches when you eat Paul? You seem to have them a lot recently."

He asked, leaning on the table propped up on his elbow as he took a bite of buttered toast. "Aye, reckon I have a sensitive stomach," I explained, toying with the singular triangle of toast on my plate. Brian's eyebrows creased worryingly. "But you were never like that before Paul. I was thinking of booking you in to see a doctor seeing as we're here a bit longer. I think you might have stomach ulcers of something - perhaps Crohn's disease even." He said. sending a weight into the bottom of my stomach. Going to see a doctor wasn't something I wanted to do. There was no doubt they'd see there was something wrong with me. Standing in a room with strangers looking at my weight on a scale before going outside and telling my manager I need to eat more or something. Making it yet hander to get out of the 40s.  
God, how do you get out the 40s when there will be people shoving food down your throat at any given moment. This hotel had no scale, I don't even know what weight I was at this point and I was approaching almost a week of not knowing. Probably higher.

"No Brian." I said quickly, before quickly carrying on after realising how rude that sounded "I always had a bad stomach as a kid, it flares up sometimes." I sighed. Brian didn't look convinced, the creases in his face not softening as he looked at me, Ringo doing the same. "I'm not sure paul, I wouldn't want to ignore something when it could be serious." He said before nodding down to my toast "eat that and we'll see how you are afterwards if it isn't that bad we'll leave it for a while." He finished.

With two intense stares fixed on me, I picked up the toast and took a bite. And then another. Followed by another until the only thing left on the plate was a pile of crumbs. I was going to be sick, from nerves or even my intervention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember to leave kudos and comment because it makes me happy lmao  
> there's chapter nine :) Ten is going to be a little short and eleven will be quite a bit longer. I'm keeping it short because it's going to be quite graphic and I want to put it in on its own so that if people find it triggering they can just skip the whole chapter and not miss any huge plot points.
> 
> Also, Crohn's disease is quite bad because it can require you to go into surgery and all. paul doesn't have it and its merely Brians speculation but I think it just shows off well how people are worrying and starting to notice.


	10. chapter 10

"So, how was Paul?"

Ringo asked. The three of us, excluding Paul, were sat out on the balcony of the hotel. The only light on us being the moons cold glow as we enjoyed the cool breeze through our clothes. Underdressed for the chilly night but none of us seemed to mind. I and George were sat on the cold tiles on the ground. while Ringo took a metal chair covered in thin cotton.  
It had been George who had suggested I come to their hotel room for a bit rather than returning to my own after drinking. It had been because he wanted to talk about how mine and Paul's outing had gone last night.

"He was as happy as I had seen him in a while." I began, being met with two sets of eager eyes nodding me on. "He mentioned that Jane had left him but he was so fuckin' drunk he didn't seem to care too much."

He didn't seem like he cared too much, but it was obvious he did. Paul wasn't the type of guy who could just brush something like that off - he's never been. He and dot were nowhere near as serious as he and Jane had been, yet still, he locked himself in his room for a week after they broke up.

"Did he mention anything else?" George asked. Eger to find out what had transpired. The previous uncomfortable body language he had displayed when we first spoke about this had seemingly vanished. Replaced with both concern and curiosity. I leant forward to mimick how George was sat, ankles crossed on the floor as my arms wrapped around my icy knees.   
Admittedly I felt a bit guilty sitting out here and telling everyone private details but I felt somewhat obligated to. None of us wanted to be nosy but if something was going wrong then it was better to have a few hushed conversations and bent morals than watch him get worse and worse.

"He said something about the magazines commenting on his looks," I replied, remembering back to that day I had ripped up the magazine for doing just that. Paul had seemed alright almost immediately after reading it but from our convocation, it seems he hadn't been.   
I was never one to read them the type of magazine's, what other people had to say about me and my band meant absolutely nothing. But it seems it did to Paul. However, from my lack of experience with the articles I'm not sure how long they've been printing things like that, nor did I know how long Paul had been reading them.

Ringo leant forwards so his forearms were resting on his knees. His bare feet resting on the horizontal metal bar of the chair. Taking an interest in what I had said. "Yknow boys. I was wondering if it was something like that." He said, quite like I had been to avoid Paul overhearing. Not that he would though, he bound to be fast asleep by now.  
"What do you mean?" Asked George. What did a few comments have to do with something as dramatic as Paul's recent transformation? "Well, I was wondering if he had an eating disorder?" Said Ringo, saying it more like a question than a statement. "I went out with a girl in secondary school who had one. She always avoided food, didn't want people touching her and cared way too much about what other thought of her." He further explained. "It was a horrible thing. By the time we had broken up, she seemed to be a completely different person. God knows how she is now."

It was as if a switch had been flicked in my head. Yeah, paul could have been on drugs but in all honestly, I couldn't wrap my head around how he could get them and hide them. Also, I had never seen him on them. Back in Hamburg, there had been a certain look in a person's eyes when they had taken something. Paul's eyes never showed it. They looked tired, but they didn't have that once familiar tint to them.

"But he's a lad? He's never seemed to have one before." Geroge put forward. Looking as if he was deeply in thought at what Ringo had said.  
The balcony had gone quiet after that. A silence where we were all thinking about the same thing but not mentioning it. The only sounds present being the sounds of cars driving past us many floors below. Time seemed to have gone by years before I broke the silence.

"I reckon he does."

I murmured, looking through the railings at the hardly visible motorcars driving along. The amber headlights giving you the tiniest glimpse of the ground below. "What do we do?" George asked. Doing the same as I was. Maybe we were scared to look at each other. It had been easier when it was just speculation. We had been concerned of course but now we seem to have hit the nail on the head. "I don't know... we'll think of something though," Ringo replied.   
As the light dragged on the wind picked up. My shirt offered nearly no protected from the chill yet I stayed outside. Basking in the silence and watching the world go on below us. Everyone down there being blissfully unaware of what was happening meters above. Caught up in their own lives and stories while we dealt with ours.

"I think I'll go to bed," I said, clapping my hands once before standing up to break the atmosphere. "Aye, night John." Said Ringo. Not attempting to get up and leave the balcony.

Opening the door to our hotel I was met with a pitch-black room. A column of yellow light spilt in from the hallway to reveal a sleeping silhouette bundled under a thick duvet. Before I closed the door to once again shut out the light and resume the darkness I looked a moment to take in the sleeping figure. He was so small even under the blanket.

A fucking eating disorder. How could I of been so stupid as to think anything else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _________________  
> How was that? It's short but I'm going through one of that depressive episodes again so I cant find it in me to write. I quite like the atmosphere I tried to put across. I'm more of an acrylic painter but I attached a photo at the top of this chapter. If I had the skills I would paint that scene in that style and have it as the cover lmao. He's an amazing artist called luxjii on Instagram, I think the purple one really shows off the atmosphere beautifully.
> 
> Instagram: phe.starket   
> YouTube (not new I've had it years) phe starkey


	11. chapter 11

the hotel was the busiest it had been whilst the press conference was on. All the sofas from the common room had been taken into storage and instead were replaced with some fold-out plastic chairs. Brian had left us to go talk to other journalists as the four us walked around together to give individual interviews.

"Here are some pop-tart's, they're very popular here in America." Said the only woman journalist we had spoken to at this point. She had ginger hair that was curled up at the ends with a beige jacket and sunglasses resting just above her fringe. It wasn't unusual to do more "fun" interviews before the official press conference started and we had to sit at the table. From then on questions usually revolved around the tour and upcoming songs whereas here it was a more appropriate time to ask basically anything else.

"They're nice, is there jelly inside?" George asked, unwrapping the treat from the foil and taking a bite out. Only to be met with a concerned look from the interviewer. "Well, you're really supposed to eat them warm." She said with an awkward smile.

"No bother to us, they taste fine as they are!" Said George, handing out the other three to each of us to try. "Can you actually eat them cold?" Asked John, unwrapping his before looking at the woman for an answer. "Well, I guess you could but you're really not sup-" she said, stopping just as John and Ringo both took a large bite out of the snack. I held onto mine with it still wrapped in the foil. Fully intending to just put it in my blazer pocket and forget about it. The other three eat theirs entirely with John leaving only a small bite which he held out to me. "Try some Paul, they're good!"

"No, no, John. I ain't eating a cold pop tart!" I said, waving away his offering hand. John rolled his eyes, refusing to give up. "Paul, they're nice. Try it." He deadpanned, his expression shifting away from warm to something more insistent as the woman looked on in silence.   
"John, I don't want to," I said, sternly looking over at my bandmate. Of course, I understand Brian encouraging me to eat dinner but, even if I had no inhibitions against eating, I don't think I would eat a cold treat when it was meant to be warm.   
"Why not, you scared you'll get chubby, Macca?" John shot back, a certain glint to his glare that only came out when he was in a mood like this. Only a few times had he directed it towards me but it had definitely seen the light of day many times. Especially when he was younger. Supposedly that was why he was never super popular, he was charismatic and funny. But he also had a certain mean streak about him that made a good few people scared of him.  
A thought dawned on me as I looked back at John that he knew what he was doing. It was obvious he did with how he was looking at me so intently to see a reaction. The treat in his hand seemingly forgotten as he was now just trying to get a rise out of me.  
"No. I'm just not fuckin' hungry" I replied. Ringo and George had left at this point, as had the very confused ginger woman. People weaved around us as the press conference was being set up but no one was paying too much mind to our spat.   
"Oh come off it Paul. Just fucking eat, I know you can manage it! You're a big boy after all!" He teased menacingly, roughly forcing the small bite into my hand where his nails left slight indents. It wasn't about the treat at this point, I knew it wasn't. Instead, it had turned into a way for John to tell me something he wanted to say. Just taking this opportunity to go off at me for something that's been apparently pissing him off for a while now. Although if it had he hadn't let it show before now.

"Why is it any of your business what I want to eat? Are you really so self-centred that you think you get a say in other people's lives?" I asked, talking in a sort of aggressive whisper. John scrunched his nose up at that, replying "well I feel like I should be able to have a say if the other persons fucking themselves over. You're gonna kill yourself Macca!" He spat back, venom prominent in his voice and showing far less regard than me for keeping his voice down.

Before I could reply Brian was by our side, whisking us away to the long table that had been fully set up for the conference with drinks and table cloth all being set out neatly. "If you're gonna fight, lads, can you at least do it quietly? Talk yourselves mates again once this is over." He scolded before leaving to take a seat over to the side with George Martin. I sat down on the end besides George whilst H  
John left to sit on the very opposite end of the table, even making Ringo scoot over one if only to let me know he was pissed.  
"Are you alright John?" Ringo whispered as he shuffled over to let John sit in his seat. The mics hadn't been turned on yet so there wasn't any anxiety over anyone hearing his whisper. "Yeah, just Paul being a fuckin' self-centred prick." He replied, looking past Ringo at the end to stare back at me. "Oh, so I'm self-centred just because I don't do exactly what you want? Not everyone has to bend over backwards for you John!" I whispered back, returning the glare John had. "Alright then, just sit there and have your body slowly die. It's not like I'll give a shit when it happens." He spat, his gaze leaving as he went to lean back against his chair. Shielding himself from my sinking face as he was now behind Ringo. "John!" George spat, just as the mics were turned on. The four of us looked over to the pool of journalists looking back at us. "You alright lads?" Asked one, a bald man sat at the front.

"Yeah, yeah we're fine! Ain't we?" Asked Ringo, smiling at us as we let out a soft laugh and smiled towards the crowd.

The conference continued just as they usually did. Only with John contributing far less than he should have and leaving the three of us to carry it on when he didn't care to give properly structured answers. The second it was concluded he slipped away to go back upstairs, or outside. I didn't know and at this particular moment, I didn't care either. Didn't care if I died? Oh, fuck off John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm back :) it isn't too long but I didn't want to put to much pressure on myself. There are some more exciting bits in my chapter plan I cant wait to get writing!
> 
> remember to leave kudos and comment :)
> 
> Instagram: phe.starkey


	12. chapter twelve

The sun shined in through the baloney windows and onto my paper. Casting a feeling of warmth onto my left hand as it worked in the sun. This painting was in a different style than the old one as I found going more abstract with your art seemed to be the key when you had no actual skill. In the piece brightly coloured shapes overlapped with one another and created new colours in the cross-sections. This time I had fashioned a pallet out of the second piece of paper rather than a crisp packet which offered me more space to mix.

John had been gone for 3 hours. After returning to our hotel room to find it empty I had stayed waiting for him to come back. Packing my suitcase as the anger I had been feeling slowly drained away as the hours ticked on slowly until the sun was hanging low in the sky. It wasn't sunset but it was drawing in more by the minute.   
We had all split up after the conference was concluded, Ringo coming to my room about an hour later to give me some paints with a sympathetic smile on his face. "He just gets like that sometimes Paul, you know how he is." He assured me before leaving.

He did get like that sometimes, but I didn't like it. Not to mention the guilt I felt for encouraging him, throwing back snide remarks until he snapped and left to go god knows where. It was stupid of me seeing as I knew how angry John could get and being his friend I should be someone who calmed down his firely anger, not someone who added logs to it. I could have refused and kept it calm, take what be said and not reply as rudely as I did, but that realisation came to be quite a bit later.  
I painted a sad face in a deep red on my paper. It mixed slightly with the yellow triangle painted under it but I didnt mind, it find of added to it in a strange way.

I stayed painting, filling in the white background with a dark blue and taking special care to paint Neatly around the shapes until I heard a key in the lock. Only one other person has a key.  
My eyes stayed glued to filling in the background as the door opened and someone stepped in. I heard him pause for a second and set his eyes into the back of my head before sighing. His coat rustled as he slipped it down his arms and dropped it in on the floor. Something I would chastise him not to do if we had been in a more casual situation.

"Uh, what are you drawing?" He said, his apparent nerves evident in his voice. "Just a painting," I mumbled, colouring in the background as the convocation fell silent.

"Can I draw with you?" He asked. Although he was out of my sight I could tell he was anxious, purposefully avoiding the elephant in the room and instead focusing on something largely inconsequential. "Sure, I have a spare paper," I replied before beginning to move all the painting supplies into the floor so we could paint together. The hotel had two beds but only one chair at a tiny desk beside the balcony. A stupid choice on the hotels part, in my opinion.

John lay down opposite me, supporting himself with one forearm as he began to paint with the colours I had mixed up. The respective paintings continued in silence for a while before it finally broke. "Where did you go?" I asked. Washing off my dirty paintbrush in the cup of water we had. Really I wanted John to start talking first, but he didnt seem to be in the talking mood now. Quite unlike the press conference but I couldn't complain so instead I spoke first to at least make an effort to resolve things.   
My painting was done now, a stark contrast to the one I had done with Ringo with the dark background adding a more sombre feeling to it. The one of us performing seemed more energetic, happy even. But it was painted in a much happier context so I guess it just reflected that.

John didn't look up at me, instead, he carried on his painting. "Just walked around for a bit. I came back once I decided that the city was a shithole." He said with a certain amount of resentment in his voice that made me believe he was telling the truth. Perhaps he went to a different part he had taken me to, I thought our night out was very picturesque.

John continued painting. Using a grey to paint in two suits in his usual style. Although I had seen John doodle and draw regularly, the times I had seen him paint could be counted on one hand. His lack of experience didn't seem to matter though as he was working considerably faster than me and was much better too. but I suppose if you're good at one method of art then you're pretty decent at them all.

I watched him paint since I was finished with my own. He painted the heads, two brown moptops and started on the instrument before I began to speak. "John?" I asked, watching him paint the guitar neck. "Yeah, Macca?" He asked, his voice displaying a forced softness to try and sound friendly. "I'm sorry I egged you on," I admitted, picking at the short carpet as I awaited a response.

Again, John took a moment before responding. "No, I was a dickhead, Macca, don't apologise." He said.  
"But I was rude. I'm sorry John." I insisted, subverting my gaze from the carpet to his paper as he painted two smiles onto each of the people's faces. "Alright, yeah, we're both sorry then. does that make us mates again?" asked John, looking to give me that soft smile I hadn't seen since this morning. "yeah." I smiled back.

The painting continued in silence for a good while longer. The sun had set to a point where I had to get up to switch a light on. when I came back John had connected the two figures to look like they were holding hands. "is that us?" I asked, laying back onto the ground opposite Lennon, watching him as he worked. "yeah, it is." he replied.   
His painting was far better than my wonky shapes. Looking at it now, discarded to my right as it was left to dry, it looked pathetic. Johns painted clothes had creases and shading, my hair was a dark brown whilst john had mixed up a new light auburn for himself. The contrast in skill was brutal.

"have you packed yet? we're leaving tomorrow." I asked just as john was painting on his signature in the bottom corner. "no I haven't actually, I'll do it now. good thinking Macca!" he said, putting his painting besides mine before getting up to pull out his suitcase from under the bed. 

without hesitation john began stuffing handfuls of clothes from the wardrobe into the suitcase, not attempt to fold them until I stopped him with a hand on his wrist. "do you usually fold like like that?" I asked, eyeing up the mound of clothes rising far above the level of the suitcase and wondering how on earth he thinks it'll zip shut. "well I usually make Geo fold them for me, I have a more important thing to attend to!" replied john finding no issue in how he had "packed" his suitcase. I took a shirt off of the top of the pile, folding it slowly so john could see what I was doing. "see? it's easy! no need to have George being your little housewife!" I laughed, handing john a shirt to copy what I had done. "nonsense paul, if I had anyone as a wife it'd be you! George would drive me up the wall." he replied. making us both grin as he got stuck into packing the suitcase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __________
> 
> hey! I'm sorry this is a bit dull it's a sort of an in-between chapter. I am beyond excited to write the next two chapters because they're connected as it features a BIG EVENT so prepare for that :)
> 
> also, I have begun my babysitting work again so most of my writing gets done during watching frozen or between drawing sessions. I haven't found time to sit and write but honestly, I will FIND TIME for these next two because I cant wait to write them!
> 
> remember to vote and comment! my 60s Instagram is @phe.starky and I will hopefully see you all again in a few days!


	13. Chapter thirteen

Paul's POV 

"Are you nervous Geo?"

Asked Ringo, peering over at his bandmate who was gripping the armrests of his plane seat like it was a lifeline. George took a break from staring out the window to snap his head towards Ringo.

"No! No, why would I be scared?" He shot back just as the engines kicked into gear, causing Ringo to also grip his armrests. "I just think you're scared of planes! Nothing to be ashamed of!" Ringo replied with his back straight against the chair, gaze firmly avoiding looking out of the tiny window.

"I know! There's nothing to be ashamed about, being scared and all... i-its just that I'm not!" Said George, starting to tap his foot on the ground in an ever-increasing pace as the plane began building speed. None of us enjoyed the prospect of flying, our first flight had been to Hamburg a few years ago which was definitely an experience we wouldn't forget in the years to come.  
Having no prior experience to flying, we had gotten on the plane buzzing with excitement due to our stupid naivety. Only to be shocked into sitting stone still in out seats, white-knuckled as the metal cylinder we were in rattled and climbed further and further into the air. Since then we tried to fly as infrequently as we could manage. Due to our line of work, we always found ourselves on a plane every few weeks but we definitely did opt for long car trips over short flights when we were travelling across the county. 

George and Ringo were definitely the worst for it. on the plane to Hamburg, I could still visualise the literal tears brimming at the corners of his eyes during taking off. I refrained from teasing him as the other had at the time however because I was very nearly at the same fucking point.

My stomach quietly rumbling reminded me that we hadn't eaten much this morning. The clock had only just passed 9 but we had been up for over 4 hours now. I had eaten a singular biscuit Ringo gave me whilst the others helped themselves to quite a few in the hotel lobby as we waited for the taxi. It's assumed that Brian's organised for some inflight food as that was standard for long flights at this point. But that still didn't help the impending thought of having to weasel my way put of another meal that set weight at the bottom of my stomach.

"Fuckin' birds." John murmured to me. Eyes fixated on this notebook where he was writing something down with no regard for sticking to the lines. The shaking of the plane seemed to have no effect on his already straggly writing, in fact, he didn't even seem to notice the plane entering the runway.

"Wanna hold my hand, George?" I grinned over at him, getting only a scoff as a reply. Our private plane was set out in a way where there were two seats facing one another with a table in the middle. John and I sat beside each other with John beside the window whilst Ringo and George sat on the other side. Ringo was coincidentally sat in the aisle seat, not because he was scared though. Definitely not. 

\---------

the second the seatbelt light flicked off a lot of then tension I was feeling quickly left my body. Although the thought of being multiple miles in the air still didn't appeal to me much the worst and most shakey part of the experience was definitely over now.  
We quickly jumped into a game of cards after a few minutes, John ripping the page he was scribbling on out of his book and stuffing it in his pocket before picking up his hand of cards. We played until a flight attendant came to us pushing a tray full of boxes.

"Here's your lunches boys!" 

She smiled without her teeth while placing the boxes onto our table. She was a pretty girl with blonde hair pulled back into a low bun and a neatly combed fringe. I also couldn't help but notice her beautiful hazel eyes looking into mine almost purposefully. Ringo sorted the lunches out so everyone had the box with their surname written on it, paying far less attention to the woman as I had. "Thank you, Luv!" I smiler softly at her, earning a wink in response, before she spoke again john cut her off. 

"He ain't instead, doll!" He said, topping it off with a sarcastic grin as he leant over my chair. The woman simply rolled her eyes and continued down the aisle to brian and the others. "You ain't gotta be rude, John!" I scolded once she was out of earshot. John took the box in front of me and unwrapped it as the resting them had been. Inside was a sandwich, a box of raisins and a bottle of water. He picked up half of the sandwich and put it in front of me. "Just get that down you son." He said before tucking into his own lunch.

The sandwich was white bread with what looked to be chicken and mayonnaise inside. White bread wasn't good. Neither was the chicken. White bread makes you fatter than regular bread does and chicken puts meat on your bones. I already had too meat on mine though so the meat was something I preferred to avoid. It had been weeks since I had weighed myself now so eating more would only add to the ever-building anxiety for the next time I had to step on that dreaded scale.

"Are you alright, Macca?" 

Asked George, drawing me out of my mind. He had eaten his sandwich and was now shaking raisins out of the box and into his hand. Ringo turned to look at me once George spoke. "You ought to get yourself to the doctors, paul, I think you have stomach ulcers or something. Your stomach pains weren't ever as bad then as they are now." Ringo said, he and Brian had been quite insistent on them wanting me to see a doctor, but obviously, it was out of the question to me. I found comfort in the knowledge that they probably wouldn't do it if I showed I didn't want to, Ringo wouldn't anyway and I see far more of him.

"You know I don't like doctors," I said, turning my attention back to the sandwich. "Just eat that one half for us, you need the energy," John said with unfamiliar patience to him that admittedly made me feel a bit uneasy. All three of them had their eyes on me now... it's just a sandwich, I can eat it. It's just a white bread, chicken and mayonnaise sandwich.

In the end, I managed to eat what john had put in front of me. Although it was just half of the sandwich and a fraction of their whole meal I felt as if I had eaten a few bricks. All I could do for the rest of the flight was to sit and wait for the impending stomach cramps to creep in.

Once the plane finally landed and we were about to step off John came to my side. I felt him push the scrunched up piece of paper from earlier to my coat pocket. "Read it the second you're home, it's important!" He said before slowing down to talk to George.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-----------  
> Sorry for taking so long again! The excuse is the same as last time but I do genuinely love writing this story. It's just hard to find the time!
> 
> Instagram: phe.starkey
> 
> Remember to comment and leave kudos 🧡


	14. The note

Hiya Macca! 

You're sat next to me on the plane right now and you seem to be absolutely shitting yourself! I'd bully you more for that another time but it ain't the point of this little note so I'll move on.

I know the last thing you probably want to do right now is spend the night with me seeing as you've had to be in my amazing company for many months but this is important!  
At midnight I want you to go to strawberry fields, I'd prefer to earlier but nowadays its always got people there until its fucking pitch black seeing as we're proper famous. Dress warm because I think it'll be fucking freezing. 

I'll explain all when I see you tonight! you're not allowed to say no xx my phone will be off the hook!

Adios from John Lennon himself (feel free to cut my signature out and sell it). My heart will be aching for every moment we're apart, my Macca!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt it fit in better on its own rather than the next chapter so here it is :) I can't wait for you to read what I have planned!!


	15. Chapter fourteen

John's pov

"Hello?" Said a familiar, albeit worse quality, voice down the line. It was imminently evident to me that I had drawn him out of bed to answer my late-night call from the groggy voice in which he spoke.

"Hi Rigs, its John... Can I talk to you about something? I'm just fucking brickin' it ya see?" I breathed down the telephone, rolling my shoulders in slow circles as I spoke in an attempt to release the tension from my body.  
"Yeah sure, what?" replied Rigs in his usual caring tone, seemingly he's picked up that this wasn't just the average convocation and has woken up some to deal with it. 

"Right... well, well... I- um, I the- basical-" I began, tripping over my words immediately. I mean how do you even word what I need to say?

"John, calm down and tell me, you're talking yourself in circles," Said Ringo softly. Although I couldn't see him I could picture him in my mind. Wearing his pyjamas, leaning against the hallway wall and rubbing his eyes while he waited for me to get on with my little life crisis. Part of me felt bad for waking him up, but truth be told it was definitely the least of my worries right now. Ringo is the type of guy that wouldn't mind anyway, if I had rung George up I'd probably get a proper mouthful for 10 minutes before I even got a word in.

"I snogged Paul..." I said, trailing off at the end. Given the circumstances, it felt quite dirty to be talking about it. Speaking of the extra details wasn't something I felt completely relaxed doing but then again he needed to know. I felt like I was going crazy keeping it to myself and Ringo was definitely the least judgemental friend.

"You what?" He asked more alert than he had been at any other point of this phone call. "You heard what I said, don't make me repeat it!" I replied quietly, running my hand through my dishevelled hair as I spoke. I needed to fix that before I left. The clock just ticked onto 11:23 so I had some time to go put some gel in it and get myself looking presentable. 

"Was it like a drunk thing?" Asked Ringo, reminding me that I was still, in fact, talking to him. It had been a sober want to put into motion by being drunk. For Paul, it was probably nothing more than just a drunk moment. 

"Yeah but.. don't laugh at me..." I said, eliciting a soft laugh from the other end of the line. What was there to laugh about? "You like him don't ya, Lennon?" Said Ringo, his smile evident in his voice. "Wel- I-"

"I wouldn't ever stop being your mate just because you like lads know if I hated queers then we would be out of a manager!" He said down the phone. His statement made me relax a good bit, I knew Ringo didn't have a problem with queers but it wasn't something you wanted to be at all. It definitely wasn't favourable for your good mate to him into men so, although I wouldn't be hated by my band, it wouldn't make them view me any higher. There was bound to be a point at where they start viewing me differently and I couldn't be platonically close to them anymore as they would view it as me having alternative motives.

"Yeah, yeah I do like him," I said, admitting it out loud for the first time ever. It felt good, my body felt momentarily lighter before my conscious was cruelly reminded of what was about to come. "I am going to ask him ou but I'm fucking sitting just thinking about it" I admitted. "What if he says no? What if he laughs in my face, or looks disgusted? What if he won't ever trust me again? I mean obviously, he's going through a hard time at the moment so if I stressed him out with this then I would hate myself for making matters worse for him, I cou-"  
  
"John! John! Calm it mate!" Ringo cut me off from my rant. All the anxiety I had been feeling just sorta spilt out. Ever since I had decided that I was going to him those questions were running through my mind every second I was alone.   
Was it selfish to ask him out at a time like this? To get this off my chest would relive a big burden off of me for sure but would that burden then be placed onto Paul's shoulders? Him having to think about how his close, seemingly platonic friend had been looking at him, lusting over him when he wasn't aware and perhaps doing... other things when he was alone and thinking about him mustn't do anything but stress him out. If this news was something upsetting to him then he might be paranoid that I was looking him over and checking him out all the time and I don't think stress and eating go well together in his case. 

"I reckon he might like you!" Said Ringo down the phone. "And, I'll be honest with you john, there is a chance that he might say no but even if that does happen he isn't the person to be disgusted by the things, so don't worry about that. What happens tonight happens" Said Ringo. Although he was probably right, it didn't do much to calm my nerves down. It just felt wrong. But it was something I needed to do regardless. "Thank you, Ringo, really! I ought to get going now though, I said to Paul I'll meet him at 12." I said, watching the big hand on the clock strike 11:42, it takes a good 15 minutes to walk there from my new house.

"Oh, you're telling him tonight? Well, tell me how it goes! Don't mind waking me up at 2 to tell me! Bye John!" Said Ringo, confidently down the phone. After saying our goodbyes I finally slipped my boots on, opened the door and stepped out into the warm night air. The next time I'm walking through these doors I was going to be either very happy or fucking gutted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you know what John has planned! Let me know what you think :) because I'm busier these days I think these shorter chapters a lot easier for me to manage so ill continue with the 1000 words a chapter.
> 
> Btw, I have a fic on ao3 called "Hanz drag bar" and I'm not sure if I should finish it. It's a smut fic and my @ is everlystarkey if you want to tell me what you think!


	16. Chapter fifteen

Paul's pov

The summer air was cool in the dark night. Just the right amount of wind blew against my sleeves as I leant against the tree in strawberry fields. We had gone to the back corner of the field, sat on the side of the tree that had about a meter or so before the fence bordering the woods. It had always been a favourite spot of ours because of the privacy it offered, looking in you wouldn't be able to see we were in which was useful for any reasons. One is that you weren't actually allowed in the park past seven in the evening, another being that you could bring the odd bird here to have a quick snog if your house wasn't available. I had definitely done the last one a few times but that wasn't for tonight. Putting the girls aside, my fondest memories of this corner of strawberry fields were the ones I shared with my mates. Laughing as George tried to befriend a spooked fox through the fence, hugging Pete while we were drunk and emotional and just the endless nights of laughing and drinking that were spent here.

Currently, john sat opposite me, playing a song on the guitar in a way that gave me a strong sense of nostalgia, in my imagination I could almost see his current form shift to how he looked four years ago, still sat there, still playing that same Elvis song. Only now he was older, the mates who once surrounded us every day where now our of our lives. Pete was...gone, Ivan had started a family and Stu had... gone before his time. Now it was me and john, just me and him, like it had all started.

A few years ago, I considered it special to be one-on-one with John. He was kind, cooler and older so when he took the time to be with me I felt proud. Now I viewed myself a more his equal than him being some older, cooler lad but after all these years I still cherished times like this when we weren't Lennon-McCartney but instead just John and Paul.

"Get out of yer head Macca!"

John cut in through the music. Drawing me out of my mind and back to the present moment.

"Your hair is messy," I said, looking over at him as his fingers danced across the strings. The comment made him stop playing for a second before is dominant hand shot up to start messing with his mop-top, muttering under his breath about the meaning to sort it out before he left. The action made me smile fondly at his as he fussed "I don't mind! It's kinda teddy boy!" I assured him as he desperately tried to smooth it down.  
It was quite unusual for him to care so much about his hair, especially if it was just me. Which reminded me that I still didn't know why he has asked me to come here today. The letter offered no clue and from how quiet he was being forced my mind into speculation. Although all possibilities turned up empty apart from one. He had made comments about my eating before, I mean there was that row at the press conference just a few days ago. Those heated words he spat wasn't something either of us would forget overnight so I can only assume a very uncomfortable conversation is on the horizon.

It wasn't that I didn't trust john. Because I definitely did, I've always gone to him about everything regardless of how well I thought he would handle the situation. This was different though in the sense that it wasn't something he could fix for me as he often tried to do. There was also the fact that it was embarrassing. How weird is it that man will cry and beat himself up over how much he weighs. Sane people didn't do that, his Paul didn't do that. By coming clean and telling him about what I'm frankly ashamed of will alter how he perceives me and put pressure on me to eat more and gain that dreaded weight back.

"Better?"

John looking hopefully at me once again brought me away from my train of thought. Perhaps that wasn't what he wanted to talk about. It wasn't likely but I could hope regardless. John had now smoothed his scruffy hair into something that vaguely resembled a mop-top as was looking at me expectantly. "Well, I think it looked better before," I replied, at least before the scruffiness suited the style. As soon as I finished john quickly began trying to form it back to its original shape. I laughed softly at him whilst continuing to wonder why he cared so much.

Once johns hair was in an acceptable style he came to join me in leaning against the tree. Our shoulders were an inch or so apart and our knees were almost touching. The guitar lay on the ground away from us as he complained about what Mimi wanted to do whilst he's home.

"She wants to go out for dinner, which is fine! I don't mind dinner at all! It's just she wants to go out to one of them stupid restaurants where you need to dress all smart and shit. Some snotty manager is probably going to make me take a photo with him for wall and everything!" 

He complained, getting only an eye roll in return. "You're rambling again, john." I chastised, watching fondly as his expression shifted from annoyed to something warmer. "Sorry." He murmured, offering me a soft smile which I returned. "Why did you even ask me to come here anyway? I sure hope it wasn't to complain about Miami's dinner plans!" I said. Having been out for close to an hour now, I was growing impatient with the lack of context john was giving me. The hour was nearing one in the morning and the chill was starting to creep in through the thick woollen jumper I was wrapped in. 

"Well, I wanted to talk to you." He said, straightening up somewhat at the mention of why I had come here. "Do you remember when we went out to the pub in America? Like the events?" He asked hopefully in a low, hushed voice. Leaving further away from me as a result of him now sitting up straight. "Yes, I do. Why?" I whispered, leaning closer to him for added effect. I remember that night very clearly, especially the climax of it all. But why did john want to talk about something as awkward as that?

"And the...kiss?" He asked, also leaning in again so we were about two inches apart. I could feel his breath warm my cold cheeks as he looked at me. His expression was unreadable. "Yeah, I remember," I said slowly, unsure if I should make our distance greater due to what we were talking about. The thought was quickly disregarded when John took the opportunity to lean his forehead against mine. "I'm going to ask you something." He began, looking at his knees rather than into my eyes. "And I want you to answer me honestly." He finished. "Um, yes," I replied, completely unsure of what was going on. Oftentimes I could read John like an open book whilst other times I didn't have the slightest clue what was going on in his head. 

Did he not like it? Did he think I enjoyed it enough to bring it up? Questions and possibilities drove my mind into turmoil before john spoke again. "Did you like it?" He finally asked. Sending a shot of anxiety down my spine.   
I liked it. I hadn't even had the opportunity to admit that to myself before now but it was true. There was absolutely no way around the fact that when john pressed his lips to mine and I tasked the beer costing his chapped lips, all my worries seemed to vanish for a few short seconds. It shocked me at the time, but how would it not? I hadn't expected him to do that and I hadn't expected to like it as I did. 

"Paul?" John asked after an extended period of silence. It met no reply as I didn't have one. "I, I'm not sure." I finally said. John looked up from his lap, taking his forehead off of mine so he was about an inch away from me. A look of pure bewilderment painting his face as he looked at me. "What's that meant to mean?" He asked, puzzled. "I don't know!" I hadn't thought about if I liked it!" I defended myself. John laughed softly at my reply before bringing a hand up to my jaw. The hand, although light, left heavy against my skin. I didn't like touch, but I couldn't bring myself to say no to him at this point in time. 

Before I had time to further defend myself, john closed the gap between us for the second time this week. Softly placing his lips against mine. I kissed him back this time after a second or two, noticing that this time his lips were smooth and...cherry favoured? Which was when it all clicked. He was planning to this all along! John liked me! John...liked me? Why would he like me?

John's arms came to wrap about my lower back pulling me closer to his warm body. I could feel hid fingers fall into the diverts of my bones as he did so. Although the touch was tender it was also accusatory. It felt to me as if his hands were uncovering the very thing I had tried to hide.   
I pushed him away hastily. "I need to go," I told him as I wiped my mouth and stood up. John stayed on the floor, leaning back onto his hands as he looked up at me. Shock, confusion and shame were displayed plainly on his face. Great, now I've hurt him! He's planned this whole thing for me and how I've hurt him! I should be happy! I should be over-fucking-joyed that he wants to kiss me and touch me but no! My ugly body and hideous mind had to turn this into a situation where I stomp on the heart of someone I loved. 

John called out to me as I walked away, standing up onto his two knees as he watched me quickly leave the field. "I'll- I'll ring you tomorrow! I'm... I'm sorry!" I replied, my voice cracking at the end when the tears began to break. Where his fingers had touched burned my back. He fucking knew it all now.

\--------  
Sorry, it took so long! I hope you enjoyed:/ remember to vote and comment! 

Instagram: phe.starkey


	17. Chapter sixteen

Johns pov 

I locked the door but didn't bother pulling the key out the slot. Instead of leaving it abandoned as I slipped my coat off my shoulders and onto the floor, toed off my shoes and left them discarded in the hall. 

The events of the last hour were still fresh in my mind. The calm, almost dream-like feeling of having him there, the cold nipping at our noses and blowing through our clothes as we chatted and played. The warmth that engulfed my body as I finally kissed him after yearning to do it again since that night in the bar. And then finally the feeling of realisation as my mind began to comprehend what the fuck was happening. My arms coming to wrap around him only for my fingers to be met with the contours of his ribcage and protruding hip bones before his lips were abruptly pulled from the mine. And then the warm body pulled away and out of my arms as he stood up to leave. Promising to ring later, voice loud but shaken, as his silhouette slowly blended into the darkness out ahead.

I hadn't stayed long after that, sitting where I was as my eyes grew glassy before I squeezed them shut and went to pick up my things and head back to my house, feeling like a fucking idiot.   
He had enough going on, no need to push my feelings onto a man like that. Guilt soon overcame my self-pity, growing more and more with each step home. Surprising for me as I had always considered myself to be a bit self-righteous, or a bit of a prick as many ex-girlfriends have told me.

I crawled under the covers, fully clothed, only taking the time to fetch a few cans of beer beforehand to drink as I watched whatever was on the telly at this hour. Cynthia put a small telly on the cabinet at the foot of the bed a year or two ago, saying she enjoyed watching telly when she was up feeding Julien at 2 am. She's not here much anymore though, opting to spend almost all her time with her girlfriends. I hadn't rung her in well over a fortnight but she hadn't rung me either. Not that it was rear to go a month or two without contact, I don't think any of us really care.   
The show was bland and boring, everything was at this time of night though. Would paul ring me in the morning? What's his idea of the morning anyway? 

In the end, I drank four or so cans before eventually drifting into a dark sleep. In the hazy dream Images of loved ones and family appearing before being ripped away into the abyss every time my dreadful hands tried to reach out for them. Mixed among them were branches, thunder and crows in the darkness Drawing me back before the illusions of family dragged me in again. Rigorously repeating until and incessant ringing finally dragged my mind from the depths.

"... fuck sake," I complained, dragging the pillow over my head in an attempt to dull the ringing from within the house. Who the fuck would ring at a time like this, reckon its fucking Mimi, was that dinner today? What fuckin day was it? My eyes remained scarred shut until my mind finally came to... paul said he'd ring! 

I shot up, walking as well as I could with a raging headache towards the phone at the end of the hall. I quickly cleared my throat before picking up the phone. Rubbing my eyes as I try and convince my brain it was an acceptable hour to be awake.

"Hello?" I asked, making an effort to sound alert. 

"Hey, John." Said a familiar voice. Although a disappointing one nonetheless knowing who it could have been. "Hey, Rigs." I sighed, imminently relaxing my posture for a far more mundane conversation. 

"That doesn't sound good, did it go well then?" Asked Ringo, sympathy threading his voice towards the end. No shit Ringo, if it had 'gone well' I wouldn't be up st some ungodly hour chatting on the phone. I'd be back in bed, only this time with a particularly handsome boy in it too.   
"Isn't it a bit early to be asking?" I complained, not really wanting to go into the whole "he left me in a park" story. The line went silent for a moment save for some mumbling and a voice of presumably Maureen. "But john it's quarter past two?" Asked Ringo, mid eye rub. A quick glance out the window confirmed what Ringo said, the kids in the house opposite were ruining about the garden as she sun shone down, a quite frankly appalling image of happiness in my sad state. 

"He, he just said he had to leave and that he would call me later when I told him... I don't know I don't really wanna get into it, mate." I replied, refusing to acknowledge my stupidity. "Oh dear," said Ringo, that same tone of pity drenching his speech. 

"Yeah... I kissed him y'know." I said, changing the topic to a considerably much more concerning one than my shitty little rejection. "well that's good! And he said he'd ring you! Not that he said no!" Said Ringo, leave it to him to be an optimist, I mean there was a bold lack of enthusiasm from Paul which doesn't actually work in my favour. "I don't know Ringo, but when I snogged him I touched him and he's...he's fucking bones! I dunno how else to say it!" I confessed, reliving the feeling of my fingers between his ribcage. Ringo was silent for a while before replying. 

"I didn't think it was that bad, but I suppose he's never taken his shirt off around us." He said thoughtfully before continuing "someone needs to talk to him, but somehow not in a way that's confronting." He finished, trailing off at the end in thought. 

"It ought to be you or George, don't think I'm the guy for it at the moment," I said, honestly I'm sure I'm the last person he wants to chat to right now. "But I assume he thinks you already know from what happened if I did it maybe he'd be uncomfortable with the fact we've been discussing it... see what he says when he rings you. If it's good then maybe give it a go, if it's bad then... then you can come round to mine or something, yeah?" Proposed Ringo. Just as I was about to open my mouth there was a knock on the door. "Aye, go on then. I'll leave you to know there's someone at the door. They better not want anything from me, they should understand I'm not a charitable person by now." I grumbled.   
"I'm sure they knew since you threw loads of £1 coins at carollers instead of putting them in the bucket." Laughed Ringo, lightening the mood before we said our goodbyes and hung up the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry, I don't really like this chapter but I couldn't think of a better way to write it as it was super dialogue-heavy. Also, sorry it's been two months! I've started college (UK college though so it's not too serious) and I've been job hunting and stuff so I've been keeping myself busy!  
>  The issue we run into now is that when I made this chapter plan I made a beginning, middle and end and the only planned the chapters linking the beginning to the middle. Promising myself I would do it later... Later is now and I'm kind of stuck for ideas.  
> Anyway, I promise I won't keep you waiting this long again as I'm settled in school, managing my workload and all that good stuff so I can get back to the things I enjoy!
> 
> Instagram: phe.starkey


	18. Chapter 17

"I don't know why you're stropping like this, I mean who else were you expecting?" 

Chastised Mimi, taking off her coat and folding it gently over her forearm as she followed me into the kitchen, heels clicking against the floor as she walked. I was expecting a visit from her at some point but I couldn't help but find myself to be disappointed it wasn't Paul. I know he said he'd call but still, he could have decided to drop by in person.   
There was a weight in my stomach telling me that Paul's phone call wasn't going to bring to good news to rip me out of my self-doubt. But then again it would at least bring closure, then I wouldn't be jumping at every little noise thinking it was the fucking phone down the hall.

"No one in particular. Want a cuppa?" I asked, already putting the kettle over the stove for a brew myself. Mimi put her coat on the back of the chair before taking a seat. "If you don't mind John, dear. But snap out of that mood you're in. I didn't wait all this time for you to come home from America only to be in a strop." 

Paul's POV 

"I don't get it, paul, what's going on?"

Lottie asked down the phone. Surprisingly the phone call from me didn't seem to startle her in the slightest. It seemed it was almost expected from the way she laughed "took you long enough!" When she realised who it was ringing her. It was a good idea having the phone on a little table beside the couch, it made things all the strenuous having to stand so much to have a chat, every minute I spent standing up just made my knees weaker and my heavier. 

"Just...just some girl told me she fancied me, and I freaked out and ran off and I don't know what do to!" I replied, messing with the telephone wire. I had explained it as best I could three times now.  
The line went silent for a few seconds before Lottie spoke again. "Well, do you like her?" She asked her voice laced with confusion. It was probably early morning for her I had only just realised. She didn't seem tired though, perhaps she was an early riser, she struck me as the type to get up early to get stuff out the way. But to be honest my little crisis probably wasn't on her list of things to sort out today. 

"I well- I don't know. Well, I like her, I think, but I don't like the idea of being with her." I confessed. I liked John, genuinely, but the idea of being with him makes me feel uncomfortable, made my heart knock against my ribs in a frantic way that wasn't in any way positive.

"But you like her?" She asked. "Yeah" I replied. It was selfish of me to force her to bring some sense to my ramblings. Especially not when there wasn't even a conclusion to come to as far as I could tell. My head had been in turmoil pondering all the possibilities and outcomes that I hadn't gone to sleep until the small hours of the morning.   
I had been in bed since the second I arrived home with extra blankets and a hot water bottle. Yet somehow I still felt freezing. Shivering under a mound of blankets pondering what on earth was wrong with me until finally getting the mercy of dreamless sleep. A mercy short-lived as I was soon awake from the pain in my stomach. Not necessarily hunger after the night I had, had. Rather my body was simply empty again.  
After curling into myself for a while trying to chase a tiny bit more sleep I finally got up. Sluggishly walking down the stairs to fetch a dry piece of toast, yesterday's events already on my mind again.

"Well if you love her then you want to be with her. Maybe it's not her that's the problem. You seem sure that you love her so I'd say it might be you being scared of being in a relationship." She proposed, letting the line go silent for a second before following it up. "Have you thought of that?" She asked.

"No, I mean I was with jane for ages until recently," I replied. It was true, I had no trouble being with Jane, in fact, I quite missed the comfort of having someone to ring every night. The habit had died quite hard though as I often found myself reaching for the phone around 10, only to put the receiver down seconds later, fingers hovering over the dial when I realised I didn't have anyone to call anymore. Thinking of it though, I didn't miss Jane, I missed the comfort of having someone to talk to in that context. It could have been anyone to me, but I suppose that's why we broke up as I'm sure she felt the same way.

"Well were you close with Jane? Did you see her as your rock in that sense who you would go to about everything?" She asked further "because maybe you see this new girl as a more boundary-breaking relationship. More serious and committed. " Said Lottie, clearing the confused haze from my head. I wouldn't have gone to jane with a problem before going to john, Ringo or George. If I were to be in a relationship with john then id has all my eggs in one basket. He would be my boyfriend AND my best friend, so if something were to go badly then they'd both be lost.  
I could feel her smile down the line after a few prolonged seconds of silence. 

"I'm right!" She laughed.   
"Maybe, I don't know what I think. I like her but what if it just isn't right. I couldn't stand losing her. " I replied. It felt a bit strange opening up to a girl I hardly knew. Especially since she worked for the papers, yet I've opened up to her more in our two brief encounters than I had to my closest mates for months now. But again, she had a way of pushing through my defences. 

"Don't worry about that, Paul. If it's happening then it's happening for a reason, isn't it? It's just your job to choose whichever path is going to make you happiest when life puts you in situations like this. I'll be honest with you, it might end, that is a sad reality of life. But if you don't even try then in a few years down the line you'll be sitting nostalgic for a yesterday that didn't even exist." She said. It made a lot of sense, but it was a big leap. It would completely change my life if I said yes and then rip it apart if it ended badly. The whole future of the band and my relationship with the man who quite possibly matters more to me than anyone else in my life rests on me answering yes or no. 

"You're... you're right. I think I know what I'm going to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remeber to leave kudos and comment!  
> _______________________________________
> 
> Woah an update? Wasnt expecting that! I've gotten a bit of the chapter plan sorted out now so that's good news I suppose. I hope everyone is doing well!


	19. Chapter Eighteen

The day progressed with mundane normalcy that was a pleasant change from the touring life. I sat on the couch for most of the day, watching the telly and absentmindedly doodling on my note pad, hoping for it to somehow morph into a song.  
The words Lottie had said resonated in a way that stayed on my mind all day. Specifically the line "a yesterday that never happened" because she was right, if I never tried with John then I would be wondering for years to come what it would have been like. Just to throw away any inhibitions about our situation and give it a go. However part of me was very much aware of the fact that, if it ended badly, I'd be beating myself up for the rest of my life for everything saying yes in the first place. 

It felt selfish to say yes, to accept just because I wanted to so badly without any regard of what was to come further down the line. Undoubtedly it'd feel liberating, but then how would it feel when I was faced with explaining to John what was happening in my mind.  
He'd want to touch me, kiss me and maybe even go further than that. Although I pushed the last thought away, that was something to worry about another time. But how would he react to being told I didn't want to be touched in any capacity. He'd be pissed, John's been many things in the time I've known him but patient and compassionate weren't it.

Although Lottie words had calmed me some, there was still that underlying anxiety that had settled in my stomach as I left strawberry fields. Food hadn't even been a thought today, one of the perks of living alone was that there was no pressure to eat and no need to hide from concerned eyes.   
My stomachs seemed to be churning in on itself as I walked to the bathroom. I wasn't interested in whatever was on the telly and the only word I had managed to get down was "yesterday" so there was no use just sitting there. Thinking of, inspiration hadn't struck in months. A few songs have been written in that time, but nothing that I was particularly proud of. It wasn't particularly new to have bouts of feeling like inspiration was far off, often during the times you'd just write down a generic love song with simple melodies and call it a day. It's not like every song on an album can be amazing anyway.

Once making it to the bathroom a thought struck. It had been weeks since I had weighed myself. I had been meaning to do so since I had gotten back from America but recent events made it slip my mind. The scale was set out by the bath, quickly I stripped down to my undies to weight myself in the first time in ages.   
It was hard to know if I would be higher or lower. Thinking back there were times where I had to eat more than I wanted to, but again I was also doing a lot more walking and general movement. Before I stepped on the scale I took a deep breath to subside the weight in my stomach, feeling as the dread itself could make me weigh more. 

Stepping onto the scale I noticed how cold the plastic was. Out of use for many months and left alone, a change from the previous daily weighing I had done beforehand.   
The red line sprung into action, I averted my eyes before it landed on the verdict, instead of looking over to the mirror above the counter. My hips stuck out in a way that had become familiar, my arms bowed in between the shoulder to the elbow and the elbow to the wrist. But that hideous belly was still there no matter what I did. I ran my hand over it, watching my fingers sink into the skin in a way that made me want to throw up. My stomach hurt, I was hungry, I did all this fucking work day after day only to be so cruelly reminded that I still didn't work hard enough. 

Once my eyes had been dragged away wrong the pitiful view in the mirror they were instead drawn back to the number by my feet.

134.7, five pounds less than last time. I looked back over at the mirror, conflicted. It sure didn't look like it, but it was so. At least the numerical loss was something to celebrate even if my body hadn't quite matched up. I was doing at least something right and the previous anxiety about gaining whilst being away from a scale was gone. Perhaps things are going to be easier now I'm off tour. 

I stepped off of the scale and stood so I was facing the mirror instead of standing profile to it. My thighs have a small gap separating them, even when I touched my knees together. I could see my ribs when I lifted my arms too, but that dreaded fucking stomach was still there. 

*ring* *ring* *ring*

The phone made me jump in my skin. Leaving my clothes discarded on the floor I left to go answer whoever was calling. "Hello?" I asked once I brought the piece to my ear.   
"Hey, its John." The voice on the other line said he sounded stressed, talking on an out-breath. "Hey, John. How are you?" I asked, refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room that I was meant to call him that day. Truthfully I hadn't yet made my mind up on whether I would have or not. It seemed too serious to decide in a day, there was no doubt I couldn't shift through all my thoughts and make some sort of sense out of them in such a short time.

"Well, I would have been better if you had called." He said, continuing before I had a chance to speak. "I ain't even mad at ya, I waited like an idiot until the sun went down today just hoping that you would ring me to give me the answer I already knew. If you liked me you'd have been overjoyed! Or at least you wouldn't have been avoiding it as you have now! Just give me some closure and tell me you hate me!" He said, pouring out his words in rapid succession on one another. The line was silent as I took a few seconds to catch up. "I-I don't hate you, John. Its ju-".

"It's just you only like me as a friend, hmm? Does that sound kinder?" John cut in, sounding far more irritated this time. I felt at a loss for words. I did like him, but how do you even explain to a person like John that it'd be a bad idea.

"No... it's just." I started, John sat patiently on the other end of the line as I thought about how to put it. "I just, I don't know, johnny. I need time to think." I finally said, already knowing John wouldn't be satisfied. I hated it when he was pissed, but again it was my fault. Having left him alone before lying about ringing him, I shouldn't be so idiotic to not know that John would be angry about that sort of thing.

"You need time to think? Okay sure, let me just sit here for another week. Let me just sit here on standby, neck-deep in emotions because you want to take your sweet time and haven't stopped to think about how this is making me feel! You never fucking think about how I feel!" John said, heat and irritation fierce in his voice before he started to croak out his words at the end. The sound sent a tight feeling straight to my heart, I hadn't thought of how John would feel. In the years I had known him, he had never been someone who cried at things. Thinking back, the only times I remembered him crying was when he was drunk, the heightened emotions and the lack of rationality could make anyone cry in the right circumstances. But he wasn't drunk right now. He's completely sober and crying because of me. Because I sat here watching telly and not thinking about how someone I cared about felt.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I said. "I just don't know, John. I promise I love you." I said, feeling a lump in my throat form as I choked out the words. 

"Aye, but not enough." Said John in an almost whisper before the line went dead.


	20. Chapter nineteen

Paul's pov 

"Paul? Paul open the door!"

A voice pulled me from my sleep, accompanied by an unholy racket. Groggily I sat myself up, piecing together where on earth as I was and who was shouting my name, and what was that fucking noise?  
As my mind slowly came to grips with the fact it was awake, a few things were imminently apparent. The first one was that I was on my couch rather than my bed. The second was that I was shirtless, and the third was that the sun was beaming through the open curtains. The final fact was that someone was banging on the window like a lunatic.

"Paul! Good morning princess! Now open the door!" A voice said, distinctively different from the first which was now telling the other voice to stop the banging.  
my attention quickly focused on the figures outside, peering through the window with their hands on either side of their eyes. Fear kicked out any possible exhaustion as I yanked the blanket over my body. George and Ringo looked back at me. George beaming and banging on the window once again as Ringo looked on, smiling sympathetically in a way that I had seen him do too many times as of late. 

I grabbed my discarded jumper from the foot of the couch, taking care to not let the blanket fall until I had it on completely. The task taking coordination that supprised me giving my frantic state. "Sorry!" I shouted as I made my way to the door, only not before tripping over my discarded blanket and almost falling flat on my face.  
George stepped in as if it was his own home, Ringo following suit as they walked directly to the kitchen. We had all visited one another so much they had all practically become a second home to one another. My house was used least, it was the smallest as I had no one to live with. A big house was more lonely than extravagant when you had no one to share it with - something john must know too well since Cynthia and his breakup.  
But the thought of john was pushed away almost as soon as it came up, he was the last person I wanted to dwell on right now. The thought would undoubtedly creep up later, but it was something to put off for when the others were gone.

"Took you long enough. We've been ringing you all morning but no one could get through. Not even brain!"

George said, taking a seat at the kitchen table, Ringo talked over to the cupboard. "What did Brian want?" I asked, sitting down on another chair across from him. The fear in my stomach settled down as soon as it was obvious they had other things on their mind. It was possible they couldn't see through the light shining on the window.

"He wants us all to meet at his, tomorrow at 12. He rang us all but couldn't get a hold of you... Can I put the kettle on?" Ringo answered, getting an affirming nod before George spoke again. "I told him you were asleep! But he said the call wouldn't even go through. I see why now though, you've left the phone off the hook, you idiot." Said George, grinning as he tried to wack me around the head. He fell short though as I ducked out the way and tried to return the favour. 

"Did you have a late-night? What did you do to fall asleep on the couch?" Asked Ringo, pouring out the cups of tea. I watched anxiously as he put two spoons of sugar into each cup. But it was fine, two sugars are okay. I've lost and it'll raise no eyebrows, I've always had to sugars, they all know that. I won't gain it all back from two sugars, at least that's what I tried to tell myself.

"I don't remember, must have dozed off watching telly. I started a song last night too." I answered, taking a cup from Ringo with a smile. "Well, you can play it to brian tomorrow, knowing him it'll be the first thing he'll ask you."

George and Ringo ended up staying an hour or so in total, George had half the biscuits in the tin with his tea whereas Ringo only had one or two. Not that I minded obviously, it wasn't like I was going to be eating them myself. Their company was always enjoyable despite them eating half the pantry. George went on about how pattie isn't talking to him because he called her niece a minger. 'But all babies are!' He said, defending himself when Ringo took Pattie's side. 

When it was time to leave I waved them off from the door, watching them walk through the front garden as George lean in to mumble something to Ringo, only to be told to "shut your gob." In return.

Neither had brought John up. Whether that was unusual or not I couldn't quite remember, it's not often just one of us is missing from the group. Part of me wanted to ring him, apologise, but then what would I say? "I'm sorry but I can't be with you." Or "I'm sorry and I love you too". Saying sorry on its own would piss him off more than staying silent would, but for the two words were all I could even think to say to him right now.  
I returned to the kitchen to start clearing the cups. Taking the time to wash, dry and put them away as I didn't have anything else to do today. The downside of the bands' popularity was that you couldn't go to a park without being hounded by people and photograph. So despite touring be exhausting, it did have the small upside of staying in hotels with way more entertainment than my house does. 

Ringos pov

"Geo, did you see how little he was?" I asked once we are an acceptable distance from Paul's home. Unbeknownst to George, visiting paul this morning wasn't on top of his "to do" list. John had rung up the night before, nothing short of a wreck as he cried about a phone call between the two. Some harsh things were thrown Paul's way from John. It was just John's frustration and sadness that made him act out in that way so I couldn't find it in myself to be mad at him for speaking like that, definitely not with how pained his voices sounded. But it did worry me how much of that he had said to Paul, the dishevelled body sleeping on the couch beside the phone suggested he had heard quite a bit of it.

"Of course I did! The wind could knock him over if it blew hard enough!"  
Replied George, staring down at the pavement as we walked.

Paul's refusal to answer what he had done the night before stuck out to me. It seemed these days paul didn't tell me a thing, despite promising me he could trust me many times over. Sometimes I just want to cut to the chase with him but I doubt he'd do well with two people acting out like John. Instead, I just sat in turmoil, I need to bring it up myself, George is too uncomfortable and john will end up shouting. But I just don't know how to do. It was beyond obvious I'd have to do it soon though, watching his skin contour to his rib bones in the way it did this morning just highlighted a severity that I knew was there, but still hadn't seen with my own eyes until this morning.

_____

Hey! How is everyone? I feel this fic would be a lot better to read if it was in the third person but it's far too late to change that now! I might write the neck chapter in the third person if you all don't mind? I can write way longer and involve more detail. Honestly, I feel this fic is quite shit at the moment, I've lost all my pazas!

If you enjoyed please leave kudos and comment!

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoy this, its a bit similar to paper crown but I wrote that years ago so I wanted to write a new story that is of better quality! also my Beatles Instagram is phe.starkey if you want to check that out


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